


In Sunshine and in Shadow

by Starlight_VLD



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BAMF Krolia (Voltron), Background Relationships, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Divorce, Eventual Relationships, Feelings Realization, Found Family, Graphic Description, Growing Apart, Growing Up, Healing, Learning How to be a team without the Lions, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Older Characters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Keith (Voltron), POV Shiro (Voltron), Post-Canon, Post-Divorce, Post-Season/Series 08, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Soul-Searching, Ten Years Later, Therapy, Unrequited Love, Until it isn't, War, epilogue compliant, key past events covered in flashbacks, learning healthy coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlight_VLD/pseuds/Starlight_VLD
Summary: In the years after the war, the former paladins of Voltron have found their own paths to healing - some settling down while others continue to rebuild and explore the universe. For a time, all is well.But peace is ever a tentative thing, and those who seek to destroy and conquer will always be waiting in the shadows, biding their time. While Shiro focuses inward and uncovers hard truths about himself and his actions in the face of his trauma, Keith, Pidge, Hunk and Lance slip quietly back into the frontlines of yet another fight to save everything the Coalition has worked to build.Now, more than ten years after losing one of their own, a chance encounter brings Shiro, Keith, and the other paladins together, and Shiro must make a choice. Will he fight? Or will he remain on the sidelines as his friends take on the mantle of defender once again?As shadows lengthen and tensions rise, the former paladins must come together once more. And the strength of their bond will determine the fate of the universe.A post-canon imagining of our favorite characters ten years after the events of season eight.
Relationships: Hunk & Keith (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Shiro & Voltron Paladins
Comments: 48
Kudos: 49





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon-compliant, post-epilogue story based on how I see the characters growing and changing as they mature and get help for the massive trauma inflicted upon them in VLD. I do take liberties on explaining things that are not shown in the show. Those explanations may be different than your head canons or what the show runners have said in interviews. Thanks for your understanding, and enjoy the story!

His footsteps beat out a measured rhythm to the hum and rattle from the wheels of the container he pushed down the dimly lit tunnel. Concrete-like walls rose up on either side, penning him in under endless strings of bioluminescent lights and jumbles of twisting wires and conduit hastily tacked in loops along the ceiling. Every so often, he ducked down to avoid getting tangled up in the mess. He wasn't the tallest person in the compound - plenty of galra here, after all - but he was the tallest of the few who used this particular tunnel.

And anyway, it did no good to complain. That only got you noticed. As it was, half the people in the compound had forgotten his name, and the other half mistook him for a mentally deficient Altean and didn't think he _had_ a name. That suited him just fine.

When he'd cleared the worst of the obstacle course, he tapped his wrist cuff to reveal the time and upped his pace by seven beats per dobosh. A faint light appeared ahead, and voices echoed off the walls. He tensed a moment before reaching around to pull up the bright yellow hood to shadow his face. 

A slow breath in, and then another breath out.

The light grew brighter, the walls taking on a purplish tinge. The container hit a bump, throwing off his rhythm. He picked it up again, keeping time with the silent tap of thumb to forefinger where they met on his grip around the container's handle.

Two galra stood to the side of the doorway, laser guns pointed to the ground and bored looks on their faces. The container hit another bump. One of them turned toward him and nodded. He nodded back and moved past the galra and the guns to emerge from darkness into bright sunlight.

Lavender sky and a swath of pink clouds greeted him as he pushed upward, the sloping walls narrowing until open land spread before him, flat and lifeless as far as the eye could see. 

The planet didn't have a proper name. It didn't appear on any of the Coalition's star charts, either. The only sign of habitation came in the form of a few run-down hangars and outbuildings in this singular place on an otherwise empty rock hurtling through a solar system on the far edge of the known universe. Beyond the buildings, a few dozen aircraft and spacecraft dotted the nearby landscape.

From above, it looked like a small shipping and trading operation. Only those within the organization knew the truth: The real work happened underground in a complex web of tunnels, labs, and testing facilities that spanned a sixth of the small planet's crust - and expanded farther every day.

And though he couldn't see it, he knew a virtually impenetrable force field loomed between himself and the outer ring of space crafts. He had the clearance to get through, but every moment was precious. He had no time to waste looking at scenery.

He tapped his wrist. The container wheels went from a hum to a squeal as he picked up his pace to reach the gate. Pulling the container to a stop, he reached into the yellow jacket to pull out a datapad.

"Cargo for the departing ship," he ground out, his voice rusty from disuse.

The gatekeeper harrumphed as she glanced over the papers on the pad. "If that's for the commander, you'd better hurry. Ship's set to take off in twenty doboshes."

He grunted an approximation of an affirmative. She handed back the pad. The first force field dropped, and he entered the equivalent of a planet-side airlock. The decontamination protocol took a few ticks, but finally, the force field on the other side dropped. A veritable wave of heat blasted him as she waved him on.

A slow breath in, and then another breath out.

The ground outside the force field became uneven, the planet's weather taking its toll on the infrastructure. As if to prove the point, a gust of hot wind pelted him with sand, and he reached underneath his hood to pull on goggles and raise a scarf to cover the lower half of his face. The tight black gloves covering his hands protected his fingers.

The container bumped along, and each time the wheels rolled into a divot, it wasn't just the low-oxygen atmosphere that stole his breath. He tried to find the smoothest route, but still the container bounced along, his heart sputtering with it.

He rounded a decoy craft - held together with little more than paint and prayer in several places - and pushed the container toward the commander's ship. It was barely more than a large shuttle, but stricter Coalition regulation of space vessels in the ten deca-phoebs after the war had made it more difficult to procure larger vessels. They drew too much attention.

This worked for his purposes, though, and that's all he cared about.

A couple of unilu in yellow jackets stood at the ramp under the ship, one barely reaching his waist while the other came up to his shoulder. He directed the container toward them just as his wrist cuff beeped out a warning.

Five doboshes.

The shorter of the two workers saw him and waved him over. "Hurry it up! You're the last thing on our list before we call it a day."

"I can take it from here if you want," he offered. "I just came on shift."

"Did you now?"

The unilus looked at each other, their reflective yellow jackets flashing in the bright sunlight, before looking back at him. Finally, the shorter one shrugged.

"Have it your way."

The two sauntered off while he began pushing the container up the ramp. The interior was dark compared to the glare of the system star, but his eyes adjusted quickly. He huffed, sucking in larger breaths to get more of the limited oxygen, as he pushed the container into the magnetic wall. It attached with a clang.

With quick and efficient movements, he entered the passcode to open the container while stripping off the yellow jacket and pants to reveal a black undersuit. The container hissed open, and he dropped the clothes, goggles, and pilfered datapad inside while pulling out a duffle bag and a black metal case.

On silent feet, he retraced his steps and peered into the light. The unilu were nowhere to be seen. He huffed a sigh of relief and palmed the controls to close the ramp. Darkness descended, and just as the ramp sealed out the last of the daylight, a low hum started up. Directional lights in the floor glowed to life, the neon purple a vivid reminder of the deca-phoebs he'd spent infiltrating galra ships and compounds.

Jogging over to the abandoned duffle, he unzipped the case and pulled out his armor. He'd only had the chance to wear it a few times during the past deca-phoeb - he'd taken a risk even keeping it hidden in the compound - but that would change after today. He slotted the black and purple armor into place and then reached into the bag once more to grasp the hilt of his dagger, relishing the familiar heft, the flash of the icon, the shine of the blade.

A bump and then a deafening roar shocked him out of the moment. He shoved the blade into position on his utility belt, dumped the empty duffle into the container, and typed in the code to close the container lid. The black case slid a bit as the shuttle lifted off, and he dove for it, curling around it while the shuttle leveled off and accelerated. A little swoop in his stomach told him they'd started their ascent.

The wrist cuff beeped again. He tapped the screen to reveal the shuttle altitude and speed. The timer began a new countdown for the next portion of his plan.

9 doboshes and 37 ticks.

A quick glance around confirmed that the other containers in the cargo bay had been secured. He lamented that the weapons in those containers would likely end up on the black market, but the case he held in his hands was too important to risk anything going wrong.

He chuckled to himself as the timer continued to countdown. In his younger days, he'd have unsecured the containers and let them get sucked out of the airlock along with himself. He was half tempted even now.

But, again, that would draw too much attention. A faulty sensor or poor wiring could account for a single door malfunction. It _wouldn't_ account for all the steps that would go into a cargo bay of missing merchandise. Although Kolivan might argue the details, he'd learned enough about patience to realize when a quiet getaway was better than going out in a blaze of glory. 

The thought brought on a flood of bittersweet emotions, but he closed his eyes and breathed it out - something that had gotten easier to do with each passing deca-phoeb. As his mother would say, there was no sense in dwelling on the impossible. Better to live in the now and be satisfied.

Because ten deca-phoebs had also taught him about cutting his losses and a little bit about self-preservation, too.

The ship shuddered through the planet's atmosphere as the wrist cuff beeped a five-dobosh warning. He settled the case on his chest, fitting the metal grooves into the specially carved chest plate. Holding the case in place, he reached around and tapped a code into the cuff. A high-pitched frequency started up, and he tentatively released the case as the magnetic field took hold.

"Oh great Universe, or whatever," he mumbled, "please let this work and not blow me into subatomic particles."

The case held. He didn't blow up. He huffed out a breath and rolled his neck, ignoring the vicious popping noises. 

The cuff beeped a three-dobosh warning. He pulled up his hood and activated his mask. The familiar feeling of being fully suited helped loosen his muscles, and the burst of properly oxygenated air sharpened his focus. He approached the side airlock and entered the chamber. The door closed behind him. The hum of the engines was louder in the uninsulated room. A sudden whooshing noise - the pre-flight for the hyperdrive - had his heart pounding in his chest. He focused on the steady drone of his chest plate and said another half-hearted prayer to the bobs of the multiverse that his volatile cargo would remain inert.

The cuff beeped a one-dobosh warning and then began a flashing countdown. The whooshing noise turned into a rising whine as the ship's hyperdrive prepared to engage. He kept his eyes on the cuff.

_Five, four, three..._

At zero, he threw himself out of the airlock and into the vast emptiness of space at the edge of an unknown solar system. Moments later the ship jumped to hyperdrive. He engaged a small jet-pack to stabilize his position. 

The cuff flashed again. Three varga and forty three doboshes. 

And so Keith Kogane, Senior Blade and former Black Paladin of Voltron, relaxed his body and settled in to wait. It'd been too long since he'd gotten a good look at the stars, anyway.


	2. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaily bedight,  
> A galant knight,  
> In sunshine and in shadow,  
> Had journeyed long,  
> Singing a song,  
> In search of Eldorado.  
>  _-Eldorado by Edgar Allan Poe_
> 
> Shiro returns to the stars and gets a little more than he bargained for in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say in the prologue notes: Although Shiro and Curtis are divorced in the "present," this fic contains brief mentions/appearances by him. Also, this is not an "anti-Curtis" fic but rather a look at how trauma and healing can affect - and fundamentally alter - even the strongest relationships.

**_One month ago_ **

"So, this is it. Our final in-person session. How are you feeling?"

Shiro smiled at the petite, dark-haired woman seated in the plush chair across from him. Sunshine streamed through the bank of windows to his left, lending the yellow walls an extra cheery glow. Familiar furniture and artwork filled the room, a fitting setting for both the anxiety and the healing he'd experienced over the past six years. The feelings wove together to lend a bittersweetness to the doctor's question.

"I'm feeling good, Doc. Really good."

"Glad to hear it. I do have a few things I want to cover today, but let's start with you. Is there anything in particular you want to talk about?"

He paused. Dr. Medler, or Doc as he called her, had taught him that, explaining it as "an opportunity to check in and assess his true desires" instead of giving the automatic answer he thought everyone wanted to hear. It was one of the most helpful things he'd learned during their years as doctor and patient. It had also been the catalyst for some major changes in his life.

"I guess I just wanted to thank you. You gave me the tools I needed to help myself, and I'll always be grateful for that."

Doc smiled and nodded. "You did all the hard work, Shiro. You should be proud." She looked down at her notes before asking, "And what about your new position? Are you ready for the next step, _Ambassador_ Shirogane?"

He chuckled and relaxed into the couch cushions. "I'm ready. I've been researching galra culture and customs for the past decade, and I'm sure Krolia and Kolivan will be more than happy to fill in any blanks."

"It sounds like you'll have a good support system there," Doc acknowledged.

At first, Doc had been concerned about his decision to apply for Earth's ambassadorship to Daibazaal, but the prospect of living among the galra didn't frighten Shiro. He had worked hard to process his trauma at the hands of the galra and Honerva. Now, instead of repressing his feelings as he'd done throughout the war and beyond, he could acknowledge the hurt and place it in context with all the good he'd seen from the galra, namely, the Blade of Marmora.

Which reminded him...

"Your expression has turned serious. Do you want to share what you're thinking about?"

Nothing got past the doc. She could smell his bullshit from miles away. It was one reason he'd stuck with her when he hadn't with others.

"Just thinking about meeting up with people I haven't seen in years."

She lifted a brow. "Keith."

He nodded and looked down as he began rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. "I haven't been able to get a hold of him for almost a year and a half. He doesn't know I'm coming."

"Didn't you tell me he was on a long mission where he would be out of range?"

Shiro blew out a sigh. "Yeah. And my head knows that, but..."

"Did you speak with your friends about it?"

"Pidge has been keeping track of him. I probably don't want to know how," he said with a sharp laugh. "She said he's nearly done with his current mission and should be back on Daibazaal by the time I arrive. I just... it makes me nervous."

After he and Doc spent nearly a year wrestling with the repercussions of merging with the clone, Shiro had wanted - maybe _needed_ \- to talk with Keith about it. To clear the air. To explain himself. But he hadn't wanted to talk about something so important over a vid call, and then one or the other of them had missed the last three annual paladin meet-ups - first Keith on a mission, then Shiro with the divorce, and then Keith again with his current mission.

"It's a tough topic to broach," Doc affirmed, "especially with someone you value so much. But remember, Shiro, you can only control your own words and actions. Be open. Be honest. And respect that he may not wish to discuss the matter at all. Interpersonal issues are difficult for that reason. What helps you might harm him."

And that was something Shiro never wanted to do again. He swallowed hard and nodded.

Doc moved to her next question.

**_Present_ **

The Lipara glided through the blackness of space, the slow crawl of distant stars and nebulas in the viewport giving an impression of a lazy stroll through the cosmos that belied the ship's true speed. From his position in the pilot's chair, Shiro stared past the holo-screens and took it in like a cadet on his first flight into space.

A decade ago, he'd been too numb to notice. War had leached away his joy and filled him instead with its emptiness, violence, and loss. Nebulas, galaxies, planets and stars had floated by without invoking so much as a spark of interest. He'd faked it when necessary, of course, but the numbness persisted. Only the thrill of danger offered him reprieve. Whether it be as innocuous as competing in an arm wrestling match or as reckless as taking a life-threatening risk in a mission, those moments had been the only times he truly felt alive.

Then, when the mantle of peace descended upon the universe, when the world settled into an era of calm and took away opportunities for that easy rush of adrenaline, he'd added guilt and shame to the unending numbness. The peace was what he'd wanted, what he'd fought and _died_ to achieve. And yet the mantle fell over him like a shroud, burying him deeper in a world of gray.

After that, he'd gone to increasingly desperate lengths to find those islands of joy in a sea of nothingness. He'd taken to hoverbiking across unknown planets, adding himself to exploratory missions, and even getting married in the hopes that he could just keep the feelings alive a little bit longer...

Until Doc entered his life.

She'd explained that the trauma had taught his brain that he was constantly in danger, and now, even in peace, it didn't know how to stop setting off internal alarms for every small thing. The numbness was a coping mechanism to prevent his body from giving out under the weight of perpetual stress. She helped him come to grips with that trauma so he could quiet the alarms and allow himself to _feel_ again.

And when he'd come face to face with the cosmos again after nearly two years of being grounded, the renewed joy he found in the stars had left him breathless and teary-eyed. He'd felt whole once more, as if a piece of himself, hacked away by war and lost to the infinity of the universe, had finally found its way back home.

Now, Shiro was back in space, flying his ship through the sea of black while one of the Garrison-issued escorts, a pilot named Felicia, sat to his right in the co-pilot's chair. Their active holo-screens gave off a calming blue glow, much like the Altean blues in the Castle of Lions. This blue, however, held a tint of green, no doubt a little joke by the ship designer - the woman formerly known as the green paladin. Pidge's genius design, which included four additional stations in a half-circle in front of the pilots' dias, meant that the command duties could be split between several crew members, like on the Atlas bridge, or all duties could route to his station so he could pilot the ship alone.

He found comfort in that. He knew Pidge knew.

Four years ago, he'd told her of his plans to leave the Atlas and focus on his recovery, and she'd insisted on building him the ship. When she'd gifted it to him a mere six months later, she sheepishly admitted she'd finished the design years ago, along with ships for all the other paladins.

Just in case, she'd said.

Shiro's had been the final ship built for the group. He imagined Keith's had been the first. The thought left him both proud and melancholy at once.

An alert flickered to life on Shiro's screen, pulling him out of his wandering thoughts, and his heart gave a painful thump. He breathed in and focused on the cushy seat beneath him, the bright screen in front of him, Felcia's crisp perfume, the comm officer's rapid-fire chatter. He breathed out.

"-distress signal."

Shiro blinked and looked down at the flashing screen. As he processed the alert, his heart dropped into his polished boots. The comm officer, Anne, looked up from her screen.

"It's coming from a nearby asteroid field."

"Yes, but who is it?" Felicia responded. "It's all garbled, and I can't-"

"It's a Blade signal," Shiro cut in. "We need to check it out."

Before either of the officers could respond, the message flickered and then disappeared. Shiro clenched his teeth. A distress signal could cut out for any number of reasons, few of them good.

"Are you sure, sir?"

The surprise in Anne's voice grated on him. Was he supposed to ignore a distress call from an ally simply because he had a wormhole to catch? On top of that, he had a sneaking suspicion this was the real reason Krolia had insisted on such a circuitous route from Earth to Daibazaal, including this three-day jaunt through dead space. If she knew blades were working in the area, she'd likely sent him as a safeguard, knowing he'd never ignore a call for help.

In answer to Anne's question, he plotted the coordinates and set the autopilot. Then, he stood up and looked at both of them in turn.

"It will take less than two varga to reach the coordinates. We should suit up in case we need to leave the ship. Anne, you and I will go first. Felicia, monitor the transmissions and notify me immediately if we pick up anything new. When we're back, go wake up Revkar and the two of you suit up as well."

Felicia gave an affirmative, eyes on her screen. Anne stood and followed Shiro into the hallway beyond.

"I wonder what the Blade is doing out here?" she murmured.

"I suppose we'll find out," Shiro responded before shrugging. "I just hope it's not anything serious."

"It shouldn't be, right? I thought they gave up the spy stuff when the Black Paladin took over. I remember seeing him and his beautiful hair in all those old 'Rebuild and Regrow' PSAs where they handed out supplies to all the planets wrecked by the former Empire."

Shiro barely held back a snort, not only because of the reference to Keith's hair - Shiro had seen those Galactic Coalition-sponsored PSAs, too, and they'd definitely done something to tame his mane - but because he still remembered his conversation with Keith afterward. Or rather, he remembered Keith's face twisted into abject disgust at the personal attention he'd garnered over the whole affair. The expression had stuck with Shiro and resulted in weeks of him randomly bursting into laughter. Even unflappable Curtis had started looking at him funny.

Shiro blinked as he realized that was the first time Curtis had suggested Shiro see a therapist. After everything they'd been through, Shiro _laughing_ had been the catalyst. A wry chuckle escaped his lips. How appropriate.

He cut off and glanced at Anne. One look confirmed she thought he'd been laughing at her.

"I remember those PSAs," he clarified. "His hair doesn't look that way in real life. Trust me."

Anne's embarrassed blush faded, and she laughed a little, too, as they came to a halt outside their rooms. "Still, it _can_ look that way, and on top of him being a xenotarian and the Black Paladin, that was enough for everyone to fall a little bit in love with him." The flush returned, and she cleared her throat. "Ambassador, may I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"The Holts never left the Garrison, so they give talks to the officers and cadets pretty often. And the other paladins come back to talk with us from time to time, too, but Commander Kogane never has. Do you know why?"

Shiro's thoughts drifted back to those first few years after the war. "As leader of Voltron and then the Blade of Marmora, he was busy off planet most of the time. And... I think he assumed I'd be the one to fill that role."

"Which you did perfectly between your diplomatic missions," she said with a smile. She paused before adding, "It's an honor to travel with you, sir."

"Don't say that until we figure out what this distress signal is about."

She smiled and turned away. Shiro did the same, palming the scanner to open the door to his suite. Compared to the other rooms on the ship, his space was plush. A small bedroom and adjoined bathroom split off on the right, while a kitchenette, living room, and office area spread out on his left. He turned right, the bedroom door opening at his approach, and shed his ambassador uniform with the smooth, practiced motions of someone who'd worn uniforms for more than half his life. The next part, however, gave him pause.

Shiro hadn't been in a space suit in years. He'd spent most of his time on the Atlas in uniform, and after training Veronica to take over, he'd only left Earth twice - both times for the paladin meet-ups on Altea. He held up the suit, taking in the woven fibers of the dark gray material, before attempting to pull it on.

He needn't have worried. The suit adjusted perfectly to his body, and he was thankful he'd kept up his training enough to feel confident in the skin-tight material. The best part, though, was pulling the suit over his new arm.

It had been a difficult choice to give up what Allura had made for him. He'd spent several sessions hashing it out with Doc, but in the end, the detached arm, so much like Sendak's, brought back too many bad memories. So, the Holts had gotten to work designing a new one, incorporating Shiro's feedback along the way. Sam and Matt had then modified and streamlined his shoulder port to be a physical connection point and then used the synthetic exoskeleton tech they'd developed for Chip to shape the new arm to match his flesh arm in size and weight.

He sometimes missed the flexibility of a disconnected appendage, but he also no longer had an arm that doubled as a weapon of mass destruction. All in all, he called that a win.

He looked at himself in the mirror, appreciating the symmetry of his body and the comfort of the suit. The design was, of course, a Holt invention. Pidge and Matt had taken the Altean suits and run with them, adding self-healing features and improved impact resistance until the suit could rival any protective gear in the universe. Taking a cue from Marmora tech, Pidge had also integrated masks into the suit instead of requiring a separate helmet, though additional armor, including head gear, could be attached if desired.

With this in mind, Shiro pulled out a vertical drawer to reveal a floating set of charcoal gray armor. Black accents highlighted the ridges of the chest and leg plates, while dove gray arm pieces featured reinforced plating to mimic the strength of his former Altean arm. As a whole, it bore a resemblance to the old paladin armor, but with sleeker lines and extended torso coverage.

He activated each piece and then let the suit bond with the corresponding fibers on the armor, smiling at how the arm pieces wrapped equally around his metal and flesh biceps. After pulling on the armored boots, he grabbed the helmet and stuffed it under his arm as he exited his room. The hallway was empty, so Shiro returned to the flight deck, stepping through the door when it opened for him. Anne and Felicia both turned to him and paused, eyes going wide.

"That's some fancy gear, Ambassador," Felicia said as she approached.

"There are advantages to being a favorite with the Holts. I just want to be prepared."

Felicia hesitated. He fought to keep the blush at bay. Perhaps it was overkill, but he'd rather be overdressed than dead. There were some habits even six years of therapy couldn't undo.

"I feel obligated to say that we've been appointed as your crew," Felicia said in a slow tone, as if choosing her words, "but also as protection if you need it. There's no reason for you to put yourself in danger, sir."

Shiro stood a little straighter. "I understand that, but I'm also the most experienced person on this ship when it comes to both diplomacy and battle tactics. I may not be Captain of the Atlas anymore, but I haven't forgotten how it works."

"Of course not, sir. I didn't mean any offense."

"I know," he said with a conciliatory smile before he turned away to take his place in the pilot's chair. "You and Revkar should get suited up."

Felicia left the room, and Shiro sat down in the pilot's chair. Felicia had already transferred systems to his screens. The readout showed a varga and a half to go. He sat back and stared at the distant, twinkling stars, hoping against hope that he wouldn't need to fight.

↼v⇀

They dropped out of lightspeed just outside the asteroid field, and Shiro flew them in with practiced ease. The ship responded to his slightest movements, reminding him of the precision of the lions. But of course Pidge would design her ships to fly as much like the lions as possible.

The coordinates led them further in, and soon signs of a massive fight appeared through the viewport. Debris littered the area, bouncing off the hull in larger pieces as they approached.

"Shields up," Shiro ordered. "Keep your eyes open for hostiles."

Felicia brought up the shield display and engaged the barrier. The patter of debris ebbed into a silent slide of rock around the ship. Shiro kept his eyes on the view screen, looking for signs of a ship or a base. They edged around another asteroid and the coordinates flashed on screen.

"There sir, straight ahead," Felicia said.

In the distance, a long line of dust and debris floated outward from one of the larger asteroids. At the end of the cloud, something reflected the weak light of the system's distant star.

"Magnify," Shiro ordered.

Felicia zoomed in on the glint and a ship appeared in a separate window in front of him. "It's a large, z-class galra fighter, sir."

"Not the usual Blade cruiser," he murmured before adding in a louder tone, "Anne, anything on comms?"

"Nothing sir. There appears to be some sort of distortion. I'm trying to localize the cause." Her fingers flew over her screen as they continued their approach. "There! It's a jamming buoy."

The buoy appeared on screen to their left, and Shiro made for it. He thumbed open the trigger, lined up the shot, and took out the buoy. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he turned back to the crashed ship.

"Comms are ready, sir."

"Open a channel." The channel popped up on his view screen, and he tapped to broadcast. "This is Ambassador Takashi Shirogane with the Galactic Coalition. We received your distress signal. Do you copy?"

The answer was too garbled to decode at first, but as Shiro flew closer to the asteroid, a woman's voice rose out of the static. A vague form took shape on the screen.

"Repeat, this... Kors with the Blade of Mar... ... extraction. We are... hull failure. Please respond."

"I hear you, Kors," Shiro said, slowing as he maneuvered the ship into landing position. "Landing in two doboshes."

The image gave one final hiss of static and cut out. Anne tapped a bit more and then shook her head.

"Their comms must have been damaged in the crash. I'm surprised we managed to get that distress signal at all."

"Looks like we won't find out what happened until we get out there, then." Shiro opened a ship-wide channel. "Prepare for landing, Revkar, and then meet us in the cargo bay. Be ready to disembark."

Landing the ship outside the debris cloud but as close to the downed fighter as possible, Shiro stood from his seat and grabbed his helmet. "Anne, you're with me. Felicia, stay alert and be ready to get us out of here at the first sign of trouble."

They made their way to the cargo bay where their engineer Revkar, formerly an engineer on the Omega Station under Lieutenant Lahn, waited for them. He was on the smaller side for the galra, a little shorter than Shiro, and as they each holstered a weapon from the locker and piled into the airlock, he let out a chuckle through his helmet speaker.

"Here I thought this was going to be an easy way to get back to Daibazaal."

Shiro smirked before activating his mask and pulling on the protective helmet. "I'd say it's never a dull moment in space, but you and I both know that's not true."

Revkar let out a full-bodied laugh at this. Shiro looked over to make sure Anne had attached her standard helmet and then hit the button to lower the ramp. The room decompressed, and the outer airlock doors opened to reveal a field of debris that had, so far, resisted the pull of the asteroid's low gravity. Shiro might have thought it pretty in a different situation. As it was, though, the dense cloud kicked up by the crash hovered over the wrecked fighter like some kind of giant specter, or perhaps the ghost of a disgruntled robeast, just waiting for a chance to attack.

Moving down the ramp with Revkar and Anne behind him, Shiro narrowed in on two tiny figures emerging from the shadow of the fighter. One of the figures raised a hand in greeting. Shiro tapped his suit cuff and opened a channel as they left the artificial gravity of the ship and jetted across the asteroid's rocky surface, careful to avoid the larger debris hanging in their way. The dim light reflected off the occasional shiny fragment, flashing in Shiro's peripheral vision. His hand trembled as he kept his gun at the ready.

"This is Ambassador Shirogane. Do you copy?"

A hiss of static resolved into a voice as they got closer. "This is Kors. I hear you."

"What happened here?"

"We were attacked by pirates on the way back from a mission. We managed to fight them off but then crashed anyway. Our comms have been damaged, we're running out of air, and the ship is beyond repair. We need an extraction to the nearest Blade base."

"Of course," Shiro affirmed as they reached the blades' position. "Is there anyone else on board? Anyone injured?"

"Only minor injuries," Kors assured him. "However, the commander's suit was damaged in the crash, so his comms are not working. He is on board gathering food, equipment, and other supplies he wishes to salvage. He has requested that Perid and I assist your team with the transfer." She motioned behind her, and Shiro noticed a few floating pallets full of containers. "These are ready to go."

"We'd better get moving, then."

"Yes. We believe the pirates intend to return for our cargo once they've made repairs to their ship."

Shiro just nodded and got to work. When they'd successfully navigated the craggy terrain and reached the Lipara, however, he directed Revkar to scan and decontaminate each of the pallets. He wanted to trust these blades, but he'd learned long ago to verify all cargo entering his ship. Thankfully, the scans revealed nothing more sinister than food goo pouches, medical supplies, and ship parts. After another four trips between the ships, though, Shiro began to wonder more about the supposed Blade commander than the cargo. Keith had restructured parts of the BOM when he first took over, but Shiro didn't remember anything about a commander designation.

Halfway to the galra fighter for another load, Shiro watched a figure in a Blade suit push out what looked like an empty pallet before hovering at the entrance to the ship. Before Shiro could get a good look, though, the figure disappeared into the darkness, and another figure - Kors, he guessed from her shape - strode out to stand next to the pallet, which he now saw contained nothing but a small black case. The readings from Pidge's handy mask display indicated it was locked down to the pallet with a strong magnetic field.

His gut twisted. Never a good sign.

"What is that?"

"Something incredibly important and fragile. I don't know more than that."

"But your commander knows?" he asked with a gesture to the darkened doorway behind them.

She nodded and then looked over at the Lipara. "Do you have stasis storage on your ship?"

"We've got a small unit. It's big enough to hold the case if that's what you're asking."

"Good. We will need to be careful."

Shiro had mapped out the flattest route, so they set off toward his ship at a slow pace, easing the pallet over the worst of the bumps and craters as the others finished transporting the last of the cargo over other routes. As they approached the ramp, Kors spoke in a quieter voice.

"The commander wishes you to make ready for lift off as soon as we secure this case in stasis storage."

Shiro frowned and looked back at the fighter. "I hope he doesn't plan for us to leave him behind. I'm not that kind of guy."

"Of course not. He will be coming with us."

They leveled the pallet and eased it up the ramp as the ship's gravity took over, and Kors let out the slightest sigh of relief when the airlock pressurized. Shiro, in contrast, felt increasingly on edge about the exact nature of this Blade mission. If this commander couldn't answer his questions, he'd be putting in a direct call to Kolivan and Krolia.

In fact, he might do that anyway. It was becoming clear that the Blade hadn't given up their covert operations as they'd led everyone to believe. He brushed aside the irrational stab of hurt and guided the pallet forward.

"We should hurry," Kors said as they passed through the inner airlock doors. "The commander will be setting the self-destruct soon."

He jerked to halt. "The _what_?"

"We cannot allow the ship to fall into enemy hands," she responded, still completely calm.

" _Why_?"

"That is a question for the commander. Please, we should hurry."

He bit back a frustrated growl and directed the pallet to the stasis chamber. She stopped him when he reached for the case.

"I will do it."

Shiro backed away as Kors tapped on the pallet controls. The magnetic field flicked off, and she eased the case off the pallet with both hands, turned to place it in the stasis chamber, and then hit the button to engage the stasis field.

"You should head up to the flight deck. I'll make sure commander... uh..." Shiro trailed off, realizing he'd never heard Kors mention a name.

"I don't know his name. I was only told he is a Blade commander," Kors supplied.

Shiro's body went cold. He forced his fingers to unclench as he stared into the masked face before him.

"You and Perid head on up. I'll wait for your commander here."

"Of course, Ambassador."

Shiro turned back toward the ramp as he addressed the crew over the comms. "Felicia, get us prepped for take off. Anne and Revkar, get to your stations and make sure the blades have places to strap in."

He received affirmatives from the crew as he entered the airlock chamber and waited for it to decompress. When the outer airlock doors opened, he crouched down in the doorway and waited, willing away the trickle of fear down his spine. The galra fighter remained inert, though the black marks and deep gouges on the exterior testified to the sorry state of the craft. As he eyed a particularly large crack in the hull, a flash of movement caught his eye.

From the shadows of the ship, a figure darted out, jet pack blasting him toward the Lipara at an alarming rate. The figure reached a high ridge and used the crevices to direct his angle. He was rocketing straight toward Shiro.

"Lift off!" Shiro called into the comms as he magnetized his boots. "But keep low. Accelerate to point zero six five."

The engines fired, pushing the ship up and forward. The figure adjusted perfectly, and Shiro had to admire his skill. A tiny, foolish part of his brain whispered that only one person would be so overconfident and yet competent, but as the figure drew closer, he buried the thought. The commander wasn't overly large for a galra, but he was far larger than a certain senior blade Shiro knew.

He shook away the thoughts and called out another increase in speed. The figure adjusted again, approaching at a much more reasonable pace. Shiro held out his hand. The commander fired his jet pack one last time.

They connected. Shiro pulled the commander past him and into the airlock before slamming his hand on the scanner. The outer doors snicked shut, and the ramp began to close. He disengaged his magnetic boots.

"We're all on board," he rasped into the comms. "Let's get out of here before those pirates decide to show up."

Felicia's voice in his ear was drowned out by the harsh gravel of a voice coming through the Blade mask next to him. "Tell them to brace for impact!"

Shiro's brows furrowed. "Brace for impact?"

Then, he was being bodily shoved against the airlock wall by someone his own size. The commander's body curled over his, and he heard the whine of an engaging magnetic field. Thick arms and legs pinned him to the wall and connected to the metal with a series of clicks. Just as he was about to protest, the entire ship jolted like it had collided with an asteroid instead of just taken off from one.

"Report!" Shiro demanded when the convulsions died down.

"All systems are online, sir, but that was some explosion," Anne responded. "The shock wave is causing the asteroids to move around, so we're not through it, yet, but Felicia has it under control."

While Anne spoke, the Blade commander disengaged his armor and pulled away to look out the airlock porthole. Shiro's body shuddered in the aftermath, and he slid down the wall.

"Ok, give me... give me a moment. I'll be there soon."

He couldn't breath. He knew logically it had nothing to do with the mask, but he ripped off the helmet and deactivated his mask anyway, sucking in huge gulps of repressurized air. The Blade commander's voice cut through Shiro's mild panic, the masked voice somehow soothing to him, and something snagged in the back of Shiro's mind.

"Looks like that did the job. Sorry for the short time-frame on the explosion. The ship's self-destruct was stuck at three doboshes, and we didn't have anything else on board to set it off. I couldn't risk-"

The commander cut off as he turned around. Shiro waved off his concerns.

"It's no big deal. Believe it or not, I used to be good at all these heroics. I'm just a little out of practice."

The commander approached with strangely hesitant steps until he stood only a few feet away. Did he know this blade? He'd met quite a few of the new recruits during his diplomatic rounds on the Atlas, and they tended to blend together after a while.

"Sorry if we've already met, but it's difficult to tell," Shiro explained, motioning to the commander's face, "what with the mask and all."

The commander broke into a flurry of motion at that, ripping back his hood. A moment later, the mask dissolved to reveal wide, nebulous eyes.

" _Shiro?_ "

Shiro stared back, jaw slack and eyes feeling like they were about to bulge from his skull. He thought he'd been prepared for it, but nothing about this followed any of the hundreds of scripts he'd dreamed up in his head. None of them included a man as tall as himself with cropped hair, a broad, scruffy jaw, bright red Altean marks under his eyes, and vaguely pointed ears.

And yet, it was undeniably him. Nothing could replicate those eyes. The air left Shiro in a sudden whoosh, a single name on his lips.

" _Keith_."

Keith recovered first, leaning down to offer Shiro a hand up. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"Uh," Shiro said intelligently as Keith lifted him off the floor with what looked like zero effort. "We picked up your distress signal?"

"No, I mean-" He cut off, shaking his head and looking over to the inner airlock doors. "It doesn't matter right now. We need to move."

He turned away, and Shiro watched, open-mouthed, as Keith hit the scanner to open the doors and strode into the cargo bay. Halfway across the room, he turned around to walk backward and threw his arms wide open.

"You coming, old timer?"

Shiro lurched forward like a puppet on a string, jogging to catch up as Keith turned around and ate up the remaining distance with long, _long_ strides. They'd passed through the doors to the living quarters before he got his head back in order.

"What's the situation?"

Keith kept his gaze forward as he responded. "Too much to relay at the moment, but... you trust me, right?"

"Always."

Keith looked over at him then, eyes narrowed, before nodding once and facing forward. "I need you to follow my lead, and whatever you do, don't give the other blades access to your ship."

Shiro grimaced. "I knew something wasn't right."

"I'm not sure about them - or anything else, really - but I'll explain what I can later."

Shiro nodded, and then they were out of time. As with the airlock doors, Keith simply held his hand to the scanner, and the doors to the flight deck opened. Shiro raised a brow.

"Take it up with Pidge," he murmured with a shrug. "She gave the five of us access to each other's ships."

All eyes turned to them as they entered. Shiro nodded to the blades, who had taken seats at two of the inactive stations. Both still had their masks engaged. Shiro tried to act casual, waving Keith to the pilot's chair while addressing his crew.

"Felicia, Anne, this is-"

"What happened to your hair!"

Anne slapped a hand over her mouth after the outburst, her face twisting into a horrified expression. Keith's gaze turned on her, and he raised a hand to the choppy fuzz at his nape. Now that Shiro had a better view, he noted the uneven sections, some longer, some short enough to see his scalp through the strands. It looked like he'd chopped it off with his knife. And knowing Keith, that's exactly what happened.

"Do we know each other?"

"No. God. No. Sorry," she whispered to Keith before turning to Shiro and whispering an apology to him, too.

Shiro bit his lip to keep from laughing. "As I was saying, this is Senior Blade Kogane. You should defer to him as you would to me for as long as he's aboard."

Keith slipped into the pilot's chair and began entering coordinates. "We'll be heading to the nearest Blade base. Unfortunately, it'll take about six quintants to get there."

He engaged the autopilot and then swiped at the controls. Anne's station went dark.

"At this time, it would be best to avoid any communications. Only Captain Shirogane or I can approve outgoing or incoming communications. In addition, under no circumstances should we enter a wormhole. Understood?"

A chorus of yes sirs followed, and Keith stood from the pilot's chair. He wavered as he stepped off the dias, and suddenly, the dark circles under Keith's eyes jumped out at Shiro. He tried to be circumspect as he edged toward Keith.

"I'm sure you all are tired after your ordeal," Shiro said. "If you'll come with me, I can show you to a room."

The blades looked to Keith, who jerked his head for them to follow. The four of them filed out of the flight deck, leaving Anne and Felicia to keep watch. Shiro led them down the ramp, stopped at the first door on the right, and pressed his hand to the scanner to open the door. He motioned the blades inside, and they shuffled past him, while Keith stood by Shiro's side in the doorway.

"There are linens in the wardrobes and a first aid kit in the attached bathroom," Shiro told them before motioning to the panel inside the door. "Just tap the comms if you need anything else."

"Rest up," Keith added. "We're not out of this, yet."

"Yes sir," they responded in unison.

Shiro stepped back, as did Keith, and the door slid shut. Keith placed his hand on the scanner. Before Shiro could ask what he was doing, the indicator for a lock override flashed on the panel. Shiro blinked.

"You locked them in the room?"

"They have everything they need in there for now," he said with a shrug before turning his piercing gaze from the panel to Shiro. "And you and I need to talk. I can't do that if I'm worried we have a mole wandering freely on the ship."

Shiro opened his mouth to respond but realized he had nothing to say to that. Instead, he snapped his mouth closed, turned on his heel, and marched them to his quarters. The door opened for him as usual, but once they were both inside, Keith once again placed his hand to the scanner inside the door and locked it. Shiro approached and leaned in to watch over Keith's shoulder as he entered a code. The panel flashed and then went dark.

"That wasn't in the manual," Shiro observed.

He wouldn't have noticed if he'd been further away, but standing so close, he saw Keith's shoulders tense. Shiro took a step back while Keith slid around him into the open space of the living area. Distance seemed to ease the tension, and for the first time since their meeting in the airlock, the corner of Keith's mouth quirked upward.

"It's in Pidge's super secret manual. I'll forward it to you."

Shiro gave a good-natured huff of laughter. "I'd appreciate that. What did you do?"

"Jammed the comms and ramped up the sound dampeners. We should still keep our voices low, though. There isn't much I trust these days."

Shiro huffed. "Keith, _what_ is going on?"

Keith's expression turned grim, and he raised a hand to rub at his forehead. "It's... a lot. For starters, the cargo on this ship could be the key to stopping yet another bid to take over the universe. It could also explode and kill us all at any moment." He blew out a harsh breath. "I'm sorry to get you involved in this, even on the periphery. I didn't mean for this to happen."

Shiro's head spun. He moved past Keith and dropped down on the couch. His head filled with questions, but they slipped away like water through a sieve. The man before him looked so much like the Keith he'd always known, and yet, as Shiro took in the foreign features, he came to the sudden realization that the world had moved on without him. _Keith_ had moved on without him, and a single, burning question rose up from the murky waters.

"How long has this been going on?"

"We first heard rumors five deca-phoebs ago when untraceable weapons started showing up in various skirmishes between pirates and Coalition forces." Keith rolled his neck and then started pacing in front of the couch. "A few trusted blades went undercover and found that several of the galra factions hadn't given up. They'd just gone dark for a while. And in those intervening deca-phoebs, they'd been busy recruiting more than just disaffected galra. They've got alteans, olkarians, unilu and a dozen other species working for them now. The organization deals in black market weapons, but it's much more than that. They're building world-ending weapons. Stuff that makes the komar look like child's play."

Shiro shuddered. "So that's where you've been for the past year and a half? Undercover with this group?"

"Yeah. And it's the reason for all this," Keith said, motioning to his face. "I didn't realize just how recognizable I'd become until I tried to go undercover again." He shook his head and grunted out, "Stupid PSAs."

"That's why you missed our meet-up the first time?"

Keith halted his pacing, but he didn't look at Shiro, instead focusing his attention on the empty side of the couch. "Yes. It didn't go well."

Something - a darkness - in Keith's tone set Shiro on edge. He wanted to ask what had happened, but Keith seemed eager to move on. Shiro wasn't sure he could handle the answer, anyway, so he dropped the subject and motioned toward the couch instead.

"You should sit down. You look like you're about to pass out."

"If I sit down, I _will_ pass out. I haven't slept in three quintants."

"Keith!"

The blade blew out a long breath and finally met Shiro's eyes. "Acxa was supposed to pick me up from this mission. Instead, I got the two now locked up on your ship. I've never seen them before."

Shiro's mouth dropped open. He was up and halfway to his desk before he felt a strong hand on his arm, pulling him to a stop.

"Keith, what are you doing? We need to contact Krolia."

"We can't risk it, Shiro. We have no idea who is out there, how much information my supposed crew passed to them, or what their plans are. When we got ambushed by pirates, I assumed they were just opportunists, but their tactics... they _knew_ what I had on board. They chased us for two quintants until we managed to fight them off in the asteroid field, but then we ended up crashing, too. I kept the case attached to me and only let Kors transfer it to your ship because I couldn't risk either of them sabotaging the self-destruct." He paused, his fingers digging into Shiro's arm as his eyes turned pleading. "I hate that you've been dragged into this, but... I need you to trust me when I tell you we _shouldn't send communications_."

Although his heart felt like it might pound out of his chest, Shiro took the risk and placed his hand over Keith's. "I'm not sorry to be dragged into anything with you, Keith. I do trust you, but I promise you can also trust me in return. You're not the only one with a few tricks up your sleeve. Let me show you, at least?"

Keith tugged his hand out from under Shiro's and backed away, his gaze flitting to the desk. Finally, he looked back to Shiro and gave a curt nod. Shiro's heart clenched. There was so much there - in the way Keith pulled away from his touch, avoided his gaze, and tensed up if Shiro got too close. And though he knew it did no good to dwell, he couldn't quite push back the wave of bitterness at the realization.

And here they were, once again shoving aside the things left unsaid while they held the fate of the universe in their hands. Shiro let out a soft breath, exhaling the frustration.

He turned away to flip on the desk lamp and pull a small device from a drawer. The metal shone in the artificial light, and he thumbed over the single button. He turned to find Keith watching him, purple eyes flicking to the device. A small smile graced his lips.

"Let me guess. Pidge?"

Shiro nodded. "It's a tracker. It works off her special algorithms to cloak and encrypt the signal. She gave it to me as a precaution, so she'll know what it means if I press the button. And since she knew I was on my way to Daibazaal, she'll let Krolia know, too."

Shiro waited, letting Keith process the information. Finally, he nodded.

"Alright. Do it."

Shiro pressed the button. The box began to pulse with a soft blue-green light. He watched the ebb and flow for a moment before putting the device back in the drawer. He turned back to Keith only to find the man yawning widely.

"You should sleep."

Keith blinked away the tears that gathered from the strength of the yawn and shook his head. "There's more-"

"I've got the gist of things now. We can talk more after you've had a few hours of rest." Shiro motioned for Keith to follow him into his bedroom. "The shower is through there if you want to clean up. And I've got some clothes you can wear to sleep."

Shiro pulled out a pair of his sleep pants and a t-shirt. Keith took the pants but hesitated on the shirt.

"You have anything with long sleeves?"

"Uh... yeah. Let me just..." He dug through the wardrobe until he found a compression shirt. "Will this work?"

"Yeah, that's great."

Keith took the shirt while Shiro tried to place the awkwardness that had descended between them. It took him a moment, but he finally realized he'd never actually offered Keith a place to sleep.

"All the rooms are occupied, but I'm not due for my sleep shift for another few hours." He smiled and ran a hand through his hair. "You can take my bed if you want."

Keith stilled and then raised his head to look at Shiro with a familiar, polite expression. Shiro had seen it a hundred times during the past decade at their meetups and over vid calls, but only now, after actually paying attention to Keith's discomfort for the first time in ages, did he fully understand the implications. They slammed into him with all the force of an ion cannon.

Young Keith had used anger to push people away and protect himself. Shiro had worked hard to get past that anger and earn the trust of the boy underneath, but somewhere between slashing up Keith's face and fighting to save the universe from Honerva, he'd missed that Keith had replaced his facade of anger with a mask of politeness.

Even more sickening - he'd somehow lost the privilege to see behind the mask. He'd gone from best friend to outsider and never even noticed. Pain squeezed his heart in an iron grip, lancing through his chest and turning his limbs heavy with regret. He grit his teeth to keep his expression in check as Keith shook his head.

"That's ok," Polite Keith said. "I can take the couch. Unless Pidge changed something between models, it should make out into a bed."

Shiro nodded, but Keith didn't wait to see it. He headed for the shower, closing the door behind him with a firm click. And as Shiro removed his armor and made his way back to the flight deck, he understood in a real and visceral way what he'd begun to fear during those long sessions with Doc.

Finding his way back to his best friend might be more than difficult. It might be altogether impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who might be curious about how I'm portraying Shiro's PTSD, here's a little snippet from a great book on trauma (including vets who experienced or enacted war crimes):
> 
> "In normal circumstances the thalamus also acts as a filter or gatekeeper. This makes it a central component of attention, concentration, and new learning all of which are compromised by trauma. As you sit here reading, you may hear music in the background or traffic rumbling by or feel a faint gnawing in your stomach telling you it's time for a snack. If you are able to stay focused on this page, your thalamus is helping you distinguish between sensory information that is relevant and information that you can safely ignore...
> 
> People with PTSD have their flood gates wide open. Lacking a filter, they are on constant sensory overload. In order to cope, they try to shut themselves down and develop tunnel vision and hyperfocus. If they can't shut down naturally, they may enlist drugs or alcohol to block out the world. The tragedy is that the price of closing down includes filtering out sources of pleasure and joy, as well."
> 
> -From _The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma_ by Bessel Van der Kolk, MD
> 
> This is just a small section of a really enlightening book. I highly recommend it for understanding PTSD. Please note, however, that it describes traumatic incidents people experienced or enacted. If you've experienced traumatic events or have PTSD, please be careful with this book.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Also, a note about the OC Anne - if anyone has watched Star Trek Discovery, feel free to imagine Tilly as Anne. :)


	3. It's all good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk and Lance meet to catch up and get a call from their buddy Pidge. Dire situations and hilarity ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: My knowledge of virtual security and coding is minimal at best. Take everything with a grain of "it's fan fic magic!" salt. Also, note that there be cursing ahead. (They adults. They can drop f-bombs if they want. ;)

**_11 years ago_ **

Hunk inhaled through his nose and let out an expansive sigh of delight. He was in heaven. Or... well... as close to heaven as he could get while recovering in a hospital bed. He lifted the fork, took a huge bite, and hummed his resounding approval.

"Mommphf, thif ith-"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, dear one."

Hunk chewed furiously and swallowed before reaching out to hug his mom. His _mom_ \- here and alive and not held captive by Sendak's goons anymore.

"This is the best sapasui I've ever had. Thank you soooo much."

"That's the homesickness talking," she demurred with a wave of her hand as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth. "I could barely find enough ingredients to make it work."

"Well, it's delicious. I can't wait-"

A knock at the door cut him off. Hunk called out for whoever it was to come in - he was used to tons of visitors at all hours by now - and the door swung open to reveal Coran. The altean's exuberant voice echoed through the room as he stepped inside.

"Well, hello there Number Two! It's good to see you looking so chipper!"

"Thanks, Coran. Good to see you, too. Did you need something?"

"Allura sent me to fetch you. She and the other paladins are visiting Number Four and wondered if you'd like to join them?"

"Oh! Yeah!" He looked at his parents. "Do you guys want to come?"

His dad shook his head. "I think your mom and I will take a walk and then maybe a long nap. You have fun with your friends, and we'll see you later on."

Before heading out, his parents bundled him into a tight hug, and he couldn't hold back the tears. Sometimes it still felt unbelievable to be home - to be back on Earth and with his family and free of the galra.

The nurses had directed Hunk to walk around as much as possible, so he left the wheelchair in the corner and shuffled down the hall with Coran at his side. As they approached Keith's room, however, familiar laughter drifted down the corridor, and they picked up the pace. They arrived just as Romelle was pushing the door closed. She hopped back and gave Hunk a wide smile.

"Oh, you've made it! Welcome to our 'wake up, Keith!' party."

Hunk burst out laughing. "Is _that_ what we're doing?"

"Your Earth doctors mentioned that hearing voices of friends can assist with healing," Allura offered. "We're simply putting that assertion to the test."

"Yeah," Pidge said with a wicked smile as she curled deeper into the chair next to Keith's bed. "We're going to annoy him awake."

"And let's be honest, if anyone's got the power to annoy Keith into waking up, it's me," Lance added from his spot next to Allura. "I never thought I'd miss his growliness, but this whole silent treatment thing is getting ooooold."

"Can't argue with that," Hunk agreed with a chuckle.

The laughter faded into pained silence, however, as he took in the state of their black paladin. He approached Keith, took hold of his pale, limp hand, and tried not to stare at the myriad of angry, purple bruises littering his skin.

"Really makes you miss healing pods, huh?" Lance murmured.

A chorus of emphatic agreement echoed through the room and spurred a conversation between Allura, Coran, and Pidge about how soon they might be able to recreate the pod technology, but Hunk stayed focused on his unconscious friend. He'd visited before, of course, but it never got easier to see Keith looking so small and frail. Hunk held out hope for a glimpse of that blazing intensity, that inner fire that filled up a room and made Keith seem so much larger than life, but it remained buried in a sterile hospital bed under swathes of bandages and clusters of tubes.

"Hey, buddy," Hunk murmured. "It's Hunk again. And everyone else, too - mostly. Don't mind us. We're here because we miss you, and we're... we're just here for _you_ , you know? So, don't get too mad at us if you remember this later, ok?"

Hunk gently squeezed Keith's unresponsive hand before looking up to find Pidge staring at him. He made a face at her.

"What?"

"You know the doctors said he's going to be fine, right?"

"I know, but... we're all awake, and he's still in a coma. Every little bit helps. Isn't that why we're here?"

"You're such a softy."

"Me? _I'm_ the softy? Oh, you _know_ I have ammo for that one. Don't push your luck, marshmallow."

" _Marshmallow?_ "

Pidge narrowed her gaze at him, but Hunk was immune to her glares... mostly. Gulping at the vindictive slant to her brows, he took another look around the room and bravely changed the subject.

"Where are Krolia and Kolivan?"

"Oh, they just left," Romelle said with a flick of a hand toward the door. "One of the blades got unmasked by an overzealous guard, so now _everyone_ knows the Blade of Marmora are galran."

"I _told_ them they shouldn't try to hide it," Pidge grumbled. "Shiro, Dad and the Coalition allies have been explaining things, but you know how it goes. Things are tense. So, Shiro came over to personally escort them and Kosmo to their rooms. Once Kosmo knows where to go, he can pop them back and forth until things calm down."

"I guess it makes sense that people would have trouble trusting galra," Hunk mused.

"We did," Pidge replied.

Hunk swallowed hard as he remembered Ulaz. He took a deep breath and turned the conversation once more.

"So, Shiro came to visit? How'd that go?"

Pidge's mouth flattened into a thin line. It was Lance, though, who answered.

"Me and Allura were already here, but he didn't even come to the door. As in, he messaged Krolia from halfway down the hall and never came any closer. That's weird, right? I mean, _I_ haven't talked with him as much since he's become, like, the leader of everything, but... this is _Keith_ we're talking about. They're supposed to be besties. I just... I'm not reading too much into this, am I?"

"Yeah, no," Hunk said with a frown. "You're right. That is _totally_ weird."

"Thank you!" Lance huffed as he threw out a hand.

Pidge rolled her eyes. "No one was contradicting you, Lance. But to that point, we don't _know_ that he hasn't visited Keith before."

"I guess so," Hunk said slowly, "but it's not just Keith, is it? I mean, Shiro's come to see me a couple of times, but he never stays more than a few doboshes. And we never had trouble chatting before, but lately it's been downright painful trying to keep up a conversation. At first, I thought it was just that he was recovering from everything, you know? But he's so... _distant_. Has been since... well, since we got the real him back, I guess."

Hunk didn't want to be right, but the heavy silence that followed confirmed his suspicions. He fought back the dread rising in his chest as Allura bit her lip.

"You don't think I messed up something when I did the transfer, do you?"

"Absolutely not," Lance jumped in, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "Shiro is really busy right now, and... and he's probably having a hard time adjusting or something."

"Number Three is right," Coran affirmed. "Poor Shiro has been through a lot these last few deca-phoebs - getting abducted, being forced to fight and kill for galra entertainment, enduring Honerva's experimentation, taking on the pressure of leading Voltron, almost dying, actually dying, drifting through Black's astral plane all alone for phoebs, knowing he'd been cloned but being unable to communicate with anyone" - Lance flinched at that one - "coming back to life in a cloned body, and then going home only to find Earth under siege and jumping right back into battle. And that's just to name a few. Who knows what other things might be haunting our poor Number One?"

Coran had counted off each item on his fingers, and Hunk stared as the altean wiggled two hands worth of terrible moments Shiro had suffered during his time in space. And that was just what they _knew_ about. When he looked to his fellow paladins, he found a room full of wide eyes and gaping mouths. They'd all experienced the horror and terror of fighting the galra, and most of them had felt the visceral despair of seeing Earth under galra rule. But Shiro had endured the worst of it by far.

He turned back to watch Keith pull in a slow, deep breath and then exhale with a soft hiss, dreaming on despite the mounting disquiet around him. Hunk looked up and locked eyes with Pidge for a moment before reaching up with his free hand to push a tuft of unruly hair away from Keith's closed eyes.

"You gotta wake up, bud. We're worried about Shiro, but we don't know how to fix it." Hunk lowered his voice and squeezed Keith's hand a little harder. "Come on, man. Wake up for us, huh?"

His response was the soft, slow beep of a heart monitor beating out its steady rhythm into suffocating silence.

**_Present_ **

The lists flowed in endless lines down Hunk's datapad screen as he checked, double checked, and triple checked the attending dignitaries' allergies and food preferences against his ingredients. He'd already distributed the ingredient list to each coalition member's office for review, but he'd be damned if he'd have another Mu Organization debacle on his hands if he could help it.

He shuddered, his stomach roiling in protest. The sound of a hundred retching Mu's still haunted his dreams.

As he scanned down the lists, an incoming communication flashed over the holo screen to his left. Without taking his eyes from the datapad, he reached across to accept, and Sal's colorful voice rang through the drab Garrison office.

"Notice just came through from the airfield - Lance is here and headed your way, Chef."

"Great! Thanks, Sal."

"You guys coming down for a taste test later?"

"Definitely. We'll be down in a half varga or so."

"Got it, boss."

Hunk finished up his triple check of the list, made a few last-dobosh corrections and substitutions, and then sent the finalized document over to Sal to start on the final round of testing for tomorrow night's gala dinner. A moment later, the display next to his door lit up to reveal a close up shot of Lance's face.

"Hunk, my man! Your bestie is here!"

Hunk laughed, tapped the button to open the door, and watched it slide away to reveal Lance standing on the opposite side. He stepped over the threshold with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sleek gray pants and his pearly teeth on display courtesy of a wide grin. His blue eyes sparkled with mirth even as he struck a casual pose leaning against the door jamb.

"Your friendly, neighborhood farmer is here to crash the rich-people party."

"Lance! It's been way too long since I saw you in person."

Hunk stood up and rushed forward with open arms. Lance laughed and met him half way.

"Six phoebs since the last meetup. It's good to see you, too, man."

Although Lance had filled out a bit and grown a couple of inches since their paladin days, his toes still left the floor as Hunk wrapped his arms around Lance and squeezed. Lance let out an undignified huff while patting Hunk on the back.

"Woah, there! Last thing I need is bruised ribs if Pidge is gonna be at this thing. She can't keep her elbows to herself to save her life."

Hunk put Lance down and gripped the smaller man's shoulder. "I don't think she's gonna make it. She hasn't checked in since..."

Lance raised his brows. Hunk nodded, held up a finger, and reached over to pick up his discarded datapad. While pretending to check his email, he subtly slid a finger over a hidden button on the back of the pad, and a red light blinked to life. A moment later, the desk holo screen flickered to black, as did the lights, leaving the glaring Arizona sun as the sole source of light. He could feel the heat of it even through the bank of tinted windows.

"You and Pidge, man... geniuses with that spy shit," Lance complimented before turning serious. "Now tell me what's going on."

"Right, yeah, so..." Hunk paused to set down the pad and collect his thoughts. "I guess I'll just start with the most important thing. Keith's missing."

"What?!"

"Hey, shhh..." Hunk said, raising his hands in supplication and lowering his voice as he looked to the door. "Sorry for breaking it like that, but it's top secret."

"Everything we do now is top secret," Lance scoffed.

"Okaaay, true, but this is super top secret because... he got it."

Lance froze, eyes wide, before leaning in close. "The super weapon?"

"Yeah. I mean... as far as we know. Pidge sent him his escape route, and he responded with an affirmative. But then he just... disappeared. Then, a quintant ago, the Blades picked up a weak distress signal and found Acxa's ship drifting a system over."

"Was she..."

"Whoever attacked managed to deactivate all the sentinels and then spray her with some kind of poison, but it didn't work - something about her non-galra half protecting her. The medic team got her into a healing pod for a few vargas, and she was back to her ass-kicking self."

"Well, that's a relief. But what's been done?" Lance asked. "He could be floating out in space, running out of air, and we're just sitting around? Did someone go check out the location?"

Hunk reached out to smooth his hands up and down Lance's arms. "Yeah, bud. They checked the pick-up spot first thing, but he wasn't there. Pidge also sent Coalition forces to intercept the ship he was supposed to use to get off the planet. The pirates didn't like that, of course, and put up a fight, but we got confirmation via the ship records that the airlock opened and closed at the correct time for Keith to have jumped from the ship. After that though... someone else picked him up. Probably the larger galra fighter missing from Acxa's hangar."

"Quiznak," Lance hissed. "I bet she's pissed about someone getting the jump on her like that."

Hunk snorted. "Understatement. Anyway, they tried to track the fighter, but whoever did this knows all our tricks. The signal died out not long after leaving Acxa's cruiser."

Lance broke out of Hunk's grip with a flex of his arms and started pacing. "But _how_? We've done everything we can to keep our missions a secret. That's why Keith doesn't have a tracker in the first place - so other people can't know his location. How..."

Lance trailed off. He looked over at Hunk, astonishment and horror written in the lines of his face. Hunk nodded.

"We think this shadow organization, whoever they are, has infiltrated the Blades. They're probably within the Coalition, too. Nothing is concrete, but Pidge-"

A secondary chime - one both he and Lance recognized - pinged from Hunk's datapad. Only one signal could get through his disruptor field.

"Speak of the devil," he mumbled as he reached for the pad again.

He and Lance shared a grin, and then Hunk turned the pad so they could both see it before tapping out his special code into the blank screen. Pidge's face appeared the moment he hit the last digit.

"Hunk - oh, and Lance. Good, this makes things easier."

"You've got news," Lance prompted.

"Shiro turned on his tracker."

Lance turned to Hunk and frowned. "Shiro? _Shiro_ is out in space right now? Ok, what _else_ have I missed in the last six phoebs?"

"Hunk will explain later," Pidge rushed, her eyes already on another screen while the sounds of furious tapping filtered through the pad's speakers. "The important part is that only Shiro knows about that tracker. I made sure of it. If it's been activated, it's because Shiro wanted me to know where he is. So, I checked up on the last round of data sent from the Lipara. From what I can gather, they went to check up on a _Blade_ distress signal and successfully initiated contact. The last input I have before comms went dark is a lock-down initiated by Erythia."

"Keith!" Hunk and Lance called out at once.

Pidge scoffed, but the sliver of a smile betrayed her. "Yeah, I think it's safe to say Keith is with Shiro right now and at least in good enough shape to cut off communications. I'm boarding a ship with Krolia in a few ticks to follow Shiro's tracker. Krolia says that if it is Keith, they'll be headed for the nearest Blade base, so I've triangulated a course to intercept. I'm going to..."

Pidge trailed off, her attention focused fully on her secondary screen. Hunk and Lance both leaned closer to the pad before Hunk caught a flash of light in the corner of his eye as the holo screen at his desk flickered. Hunk jerked upright.

"Uhhh, Pidge?"

"Yeah, I see it!"

"What's going on?" Lance asked.

Hunk pointed to the flickering screen. "Someone is trying to hack Pidge's signal. They've broken through the first firewall."

"What? That shouldn't be possible, right?"

"While I appreciate the vote of confidence, Lance, I'm not actually an all-knowing computer god," Pidge responded before descending into a series of grumbles as her fingers flew over her screen. "I don't understand. What _is_ this? There. That... That should have worked! What the quiznak?!"

"Share your screen, Pidge," Hunk urged as he projected his datapad screen as a larger holo screen.

She flicked her fingers, and code filled Hunk's screen, streaming by at a ridiculous pace. He began to pick out the hits as they came. Pidge countered each attack, but they seemed to get more sophisticated with each attempt. The back and forth hurt his head - he'd always been better with circuits and bolts and wires - but after the fifth or sixth attempt, his eyes caught on to a repeating pattern just before each attack. He highlighted it and pulled it out of the stream.

"There! What's that?"

"Holy fuck!"

"Katie Holt!" Lance admonished. "Language!"

"I'm trying to stop a hacker from accessing all our private files and destroying everything we've worked for during the past five deca-phoebs," she shouted back at him. "I think I get a pass on this one!"

Pidge's fingers flew across her screen, tapping out new columns of code as quickly as she could. Hunk swept through after her, correcting any typos, fine tuning the sloppy bits, and adding a couple of his own snippets to supplement. In the midst of that, another attack hit, and Pidge half screamed, half growled in frustration.

"Gah! I can't keep up!"

"You're doing great, Pidge," Hunk soothed. "You got this. Just keep going!"

She repelled the next attack, but the malicious code only sped up. Finally, Pidge hit the last keystroke.

"There! Hunk?"

"Two ticks! Aaaaannnnd... done! Go go go!"

Pidge tapped again, applying their patch and pushing the hacker out of the system. The scrolling code cut off, and both of Hunk's holo screens faded to black. Pidge's face appeared the next moment as she leaned back and pressed a hand to her forehead.

"What _was_ that?" Hunk finally whispered.

"I think... I think this is part of what we've been fighting," Pidge answered. "It's similar to what I encounter every time I try to hack into their systems. Whoever they've got running their security - they're amazing. I try something, and they counter it. They try something, I counter it. It's like... some sort of game. But not a fun one."

The silence lingered as they let their breathing and heart rates slow to normal levels. Hunk felt shaky after the surge of adrenaline, and one look at the other two told him he wasn't alone. He pushed back against intrusive memories of similar, intense moments during the war - fighting Zarkon or Honvera or Sendak, watching his friends be hurt, being betrayed by supposed allies.

Then, a sudden sense of calm settled over the memories, and Hunk's body relaxed. A moment later, however, he furrowed his brows. For the last few deca-phoebs, a similar calmness had washed over him during intense moments, and he'd assumed it was a result of learning to better cope with his emotions. He _had_ gotten better at that, but the sudden sensation combined with memories of the war made him think of a connection that had provided him with a similar calm - a connection so familiar it had become a part of him.

He closed his eyes. He latched onto the calm and searched for a single thought, a glimmer of a thread. He projected outward, calling... pleading...

No response.

Because of course not. The lions were _gone_. Hunk shook his head and admonished himself for imagining things.

"So..." Lance said, drawing out the word. "Now that we're not in imminent danger... Shiro's back out in space?"

"Hmmm?" Hunk blinked and focused on his friend. "Oh, yeah. Right after you left for your deep-space mission, he announced he'd been selected for the ambassadorship on Daibazaal."

"Wow. He wasn't kidding at our last meet-up, then? About getting back out there? I thought he meant taking a few trips. Maybe indulging in a few tourist traps. Not moving to another planet." Lance tilted his head and pursed his lips in thought before adding, "Although if anyone could survive - even thrive - as an ambassador to the galran homeworld, it would be him. God knows no one else can seem to keep the job."

"Yeah, I was worried about it at first - you know, because of everything," Pidge admitted. They all nodded. "But he just seemed so _excited_. I can't remember the last time I saw him that excited about anything."

Hunk took a step back to perch on the edge of his desk and grimaced as he recalled the long line of Earth ambassadors he'd hosted at galra-led coalition events. They'd pander and schmooze their way through the crowds every time, but most of them quit after less than a deca-phoeb on the job, citing things such as "difficult working conditions" or "uncooperative officials" as their reason for abandoning the post. One of them didn't make it a phoeb before he fled Daibazaal, supposedly "in fear of his life."

"Shiro will do a great job," Hunk affirmed. "And with him there as a long-term ambassador, Coran might finally convince the alteans to send an ambassador of their own."

"Let's not get too ambitious," Lance said through a tremulous laugh. "Merla is many things, but forgiving isn't one of them."

"It doesn't have to be her," Pidge argued before adding in a quieter tone, "though I get why they'd all want to stay close to home after what happened to the original Altea."

Another silence descended. Lance shuffled over to perch next to Hunk before speaking in a softer voice.

"So, Shiro is out gallivanting through space, and Keith is with Shiro. What about the weapon? Do we even know what it is?"

Pidge shook her head as she finally leaned forward and began typing on her secondary screen once more. "Something that makes a big boom? Keith's communications were rare and contained as little information as possible to avoid detection, so we won't know for sure until we meet up. I'll try to keep you all posted, but I think Keith might have the right idea. These long-range communications are easier to hack and intercept. I need to send this latest attack to Matt and Dad to parse, but otherwise, we should keep communications to a minimum. At least until we can figure out who or what is messing with me."

Lance stood up from the desk and put his hands on his hips, looking every inch the leader he'd become during the past five deca-phoebs. Hunk couldn't help smiling as he thought back on how far they'd come. Lance caught his eye and smiled back before addressing Pidge.

"I guess we'll have to come to you, then. Hunk, what's your next event?"

"We've got several Earth-side events in the next few movements, but Sal can cover those. Then, Coran has us on the schedule for a diplomatic gala on Altea next phoeb. I could leave Earth now with the excuse that I need to start planning for that?"

"Perfect," Lance said as he clapped his hands together. "It's about time we got the band back together. You guys do realize it's been four deca-phoebs since all us ex-paladins were physically in the same place?"

Pidge allowed a tired smile. "Let's hope Shiro and Keith get a few things figured out in the process, eh?"

Lance's smile faded. "I don't know. Maybe? I think Keith's more likely to go off the deep end being in such close proximity with Shiro. I mean, no one was fooled by the polite avoidance, right?"

"No one but Shiro," Pidge acknowledged with a sigh. "Keith does try, though. It's not like he _meant_ to miss that first meet-up."

Hunk's stomach turned sour. He put a hand over his belly and took a deep breath before looking Pidge in the eye.

"No, he didn't mean to, but that was our fault for underestimating our enemy. Now we know better. So, instead of tempting fate, Lance and I are going to sign off, and we'll see you at home base."

"Sounds good. Be safe out there."

"You, too," they both responded before Hunk cut the signal.

Lance made a circle motion with his finger to encompass the room. "We're still, uh... good, right?"

"Yeah, the disruptor is still on."

"OK, so, before we have to go back to pretending to be clueless hacks, let me just say - I don't know how Keith does this long-term mission stuff. I was only gone for six phoebs, and I feel like I'm completely out of touch."

As he spoke, Lance wandered over to the stiff couch underneath the row of windows, plopped down with one arm stretched along the back, and stared out over the sprawling Garrison compound. He looked like some sort of model with his shiny dress shoes, pale blue button-up, and artfully styled hair. Anyone watching him now would never guess that he'd just returned from beyond the furthest reaches of the known universe after leading a mission to shut down a massive munitions complex that had been supplying weapons to half the pirates in the universe. As far as anyone knew, he'd been on a solo trip to explore distant planets and "find himself."

"I think he's just used to it," Hunk explained. "It's been almost fifteen years since he first joined the Blade, you know?"

"Ah yes, the quantum time-di-whatsit crap," Lance groused. "I've given up trying to explain that, no, I'm not actually thirty-two. And that Keith is _three_ years older than us now instead of one year older, so technically, he _is_ thirty-two, even though everyone thinks he _should_ be thirty-three. Sometimes even I can't keep it straight. And then there's Shiro... do you go by former age or body age? Because in that case, he's like fourteen or something."

"And if you take into account his birthday was on a leap day," Hunk joined in, "he's only three and a half."

Lance huffed out a half groan, half chuckle as Hunk sat down next to him and mirrored his posture. They lingered in the silence for a moment before Lance looked over and spoke again.

"The family says hi, by the way. Mom wants all the Garretts to come visit for a few weeks in the summer if you all can manage it."

"Oh! We'd love that. I'll tell Mom."

Lance nodded, his gaze turning back to the dry, rocky landscape beyond the Garrison grounds. Hunk waited, noting the tension in Lance's jaw and the way the hand in his lap clenched into a fist. Finally, Lance sighed and closed his eyes, his voice coming out pained.

"Mom asked if I'd met anyone 'special' on my journey. I know she doesn't mean any disrespect. She just wants me to be happy, but I don't know how to make her believe that I _am_ happy as I am."

Hunk hummed in sympathy. He'd long ago given up trying to keep his mom from playing match-maker after he and Shay had gone back to being just friends - they'd tried to make things work, but with the distance and cultural differences, they'd eventually slid back into a close friendship as opposed to a romantic relationship. Luckily, his job gave him a good excuse to avoid most of his mom's meddling.

But this was about Lance, not him. He mentally shook himself and focused.

They'd danced around the Allura topic before, but Hunk hadn't asked the hard questions. Now, he thought maybe it was time. Probably long past time, really.

"Would it be so bad if you did? Meet someone, I mean?"

Lance shook his head. "It's stupid, but... no one has ever caught my attention like Allura. I know it's wrong to compare - believe me, I've had this conversation with my therapist multiple times - and I swear it's not a loyalty thing. I just can't see myself with anyone in that way."

The _else_ went unspoken, but they both heard it. "If you don't think about it in terms of specific people, does that change anything? Like, do you want a romantic partner in a nebulous sense?"

"I... don't know. I guess I need to think about it."

Lance unclenched his fist and lifted it to brush his fingers over the altean marks embedded in his skin. Hunk blinked as they seemed to glow a little, but a flash of light through the window from a passing pod had him shaking his head. He was getting too caught up in the past today. Zeroing in on Lance once more, Hunk reached across the back of the couch and patted his friend's hand.

"I can't know what you've gone through. Not really. But I do know that anyone would be lucky to catch your eye. I _also_ know that romantic relationships aren't necessary to lead a perfectly happy life. So, try not to take your mom's words to heart and do what feels right for you - with the caveat that you shouldn't be afraid of reaching out to people. I'll always be here to listen if you need me."

Lance squeezed Hunk's hand. "Thanks, man. Same goes for you."

Sucking in a deep breath, Lance stood up once more. All vestiges of seriousness fell away, revealing the lighter side of his best friend. Knowing Lance as well as he did, Hunk took the change in stride.

"So, Sal mentioned something about taste testing?" Lance asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Hunk laughed as he flicked the switch on his pad. The red light faded, and the holo screen flickered to life. Hunk projected a few photos of the new dishes being served at tomorrow's dinner.

"You're in for a treat."

"Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's get to testing!" Lance commanded with a flourish of his hand as he turned toward the door.

Hunk grabbed his best friend around the shoulders and held on as they walked down the hall, a deep joy building in his chest while they traded stories and jokes. He'd missed this - chatting and enjoying time with his friends - and despite the direness of their current situation, he couldn't wait to have everyone together again. If he'd learned anything from his time as a paladin and the subsequent years healing from the horrors of war, it was that he needed to take the good where he found it.

And this? This was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get to see Keef's thoughts on things in the next chapter!


	4. In for a Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is forced to confront some messy emotions, and he's not happy about it. 
> 
> Also, the plot gets stymied by Keith's lack of sleep and subsequent lack of brain power. (He's not normally so bad at this, but he's got a lot on his mind and not enough sleep to process it all.)

**_10.5 years ago_ **

_"Thanks for the invite, but I'm not going to make it."_

_"I'll catch up with you all next time. Promise."_

_"Start without me! I'll get there if I can."_

_"Next time."_

_"So sorry."_

_"Maybe later..."_

Keith sat against the back wall of his bunk scrolling through months of messages and counting the times they'd managed to pull Shiro away from his work. The results were disappointing.

The other paladins expected _him_ to fix it, but they didn't know that he'd lost what little influence he'd had more than a year ago over a split-second mistake. Shame kept the words locked up tight - he didn't need the paladins' pity on top of his own regret - but more importantly, talking about it wouldn't fix anything.

Flicking back to the top, he stared at Shiro's latest response. Keith hadn't included the other paladins in this invitation, so at least the latest rejection only came to him.

_"Keith - Thanks for inviting me, but with the launch tomorrow, I'm buried in last-minute meetings and paperwork. Take some photos for me?"_

He tossed the pad on the bedspread and let his head fall back with a thud as he scrubbed a hand down his face. Iverson would side-eye him for the faint stubble, but he couldn't muster the strength to care. Instead, he pushed off the bed, threw the ugly orange jacket over his shoulder, and headed to Black's hanger.

As his boots thumped down the now-familiar halls of the Atlas, he ignored all the furtive looks and whispers. It reminded him of his early Garrison days, but according to Lance, he was now the "stoic and mysterious savior of Earth" instead of the undeserving problem child.

If it meant he could get to Black with zero interruptions, he'd roll with it.

Black greeted him with a pleased rumble and leaned down to let him in. As they flew over the desert he'd once called home, he spied a familiar overlook and paused, debating his choices. Eventually, chuffing that sounded like a scolding cut through their connection, and Black made the choice for him by sitting down at the edge of the overlook. Taking the hint, he climbed up to her head and stretched out to bask in the hazy heat of late afternoon. Moments later, a burgeoning presence in his mind solidified into a mass of black and blue fur at his side. Keith chuckled and gave the wolf a scratch behind the ears as he took in the rocky mesas and expanses of patchy scrub.

In the silence, his thoughts strayed toward Shiro, as they often did, but he cleared his mind with the meditation techniques Krolia taught him in the Abyss. He'd be damned if he'd let his problems with Shiro tarnish the memory of what might be his last afternoon on Earth.

And yet, after an unexpected visit from Lance, Keith pulled out his mini pad to snap a few pictures. He took one of his legs stretched out over Black's head with the blazing sunset as the backdrop and another of the sunset framed by the silhouette of the wolf sitting between Black's "ears." At the end, he snapped a lone selfie of him and the wolf, the sunset playing out in shades of orange and pink over them both. He sent them off to Shiro with a " _wish u were here_."

It was stupid. He knew it. Yet the part of him that still craved Shiro's attention shriveled a bit more as the message was read... but received no reply.

Eventually, daylight faded and stars winked into view. As he gazed up at the hazy arm of the Milky Way cutting across the darkened sky, he contemplated the beauty and horror of space. Even with all they'd seen, so much remained undiscovered, and he allowed himself to dream of a day when he could explore it without the hovering spectre of war.

His brain refused to leave Shiro out of the dream. He closed his eyes, shivered in the cold desert air, and then climbed back into Black.

Another stupid idea hit him as he returned to the senior officer and paladin quarters. He walked in the opposite direction of his room until he stood in front of the captain's quarters. It was possible Shiro was doing paperwork in his office or in a last-minute meeting with command...

Keith raised a hand and knocked before he could talk himself out of it.

As he waited, a thousand thoughts roared through him like an endless river: He shouldn't have come; Shiro wouldn't want to see him; Shiro didn't have time for him. But deep down he knew they needed to talk about everything that had happened a year ago. If they could just-

His thoughts cut off as the door opened and he came face to face with Curtis, the Atlas comms officer. Keith blinked and looked to the nameplate beside the door, just in case. It read Captain T. Shirogane. A weak, trembling flame ignited in his gut.

"Oh. Hey, Keith. Shiro's in the shower. Did you want to come in and wait?"

Keith stared longer than appropriate. He didn't know what his face was doing, but from Curtis' increasingly nervous expression, it wasn't anything good.

"Uh... I'm just here to go over some final paperwork," Curtis explained before swallowing. Hard. "Keith?"

An explosion swelled in his chest. He couldn't stay here. Curtis didn't deserve that.

"Sorry," he managed to choke out, "just... tell him I was here. Or..." He shook his head, swallowing flames as he backed away. "It doesn't matter. Have a good night, Curtis."

He didn't wait for Curtis' soft "you, too" before turning away. He made it halfway down the hall before a familiar voice called out to him.

He stopped because he didn't know how not to.

Quick steps approached and circled around him to reveal a wet-headed Captain of the Atlas in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Shiro seemed breathless, as if he'd run a sprint instead of jogged down the hall.

"Hey, Keith! Sorry I missed you. I just got done for the day."

Keith looked over his shoulder. Curtis still watched them from the doorway, but when their eyes met, the officer ducked back into Shiro's quarters. Flames seared Keith's insides to ash, but he kept it contained. He turned to find Shiro wearing a vaguely apologetic smile.

"We're just going over some last-minute paperwork. Nothing dire. Did you need something?"

The boy he'd once been screamed at him to run. The man he'd become squared his shoulders and met Shiro's gaze head on.

"Yeah, actually. I wanted to talk with you about the team. I know you're busy, but..." He shoved his hands in his pockets, willing the pressure in his throat to subside. "They miss you, you know? Even if you don't want to see me anymore, please... please don't cut them out. It's not fair to them."

Shiro's mouth fell open, his brows furrowing more with each passing second of silence. Before Keith could clarify, though, Shiro burst into a flurry of words.

"Keith, no- you- Is that what you think? That I'm saying no because of _you_?"

"Why else? No matter how busy we were _before_ , you always made time to connect with your team. Now, you barely talk to us outside of meetings, let alone invite us to your apartment to-" He choked on his words, the sudden flare of anger now feeling too personal to share, even with Shiro - or perhaps _because_ it was Shiro. He shook his head and ended with a weak, "It's bullshit."

"I know," Shiro admitted quietly, his gray eyes searching Keith's. "But the paladins aren't mine anymore. They're _yours_. And the last thing you need is the former leader interfering with your decisions the way _he_ used to."

The sucker punch left Keith reeling. The inferno in his chest guttered and died. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for water, but no words escaped. Shiro shook his head and thrust his flesh hand into his damp hair.

"It's not you, Keith." He averted his gaze as he added in a tentative voice, "I told you. You're my brother, too."

The sorrow Keith thought he'd buried a year ago rose up and sliced into him like a Marmoran blade. Unable to hold Shiro's gaze for fear his face would betray him, he stepped forward until they stood shoulder to shoulder facing opposite directions. Gutted and heartbroken - for himself, for Shiro - Keith forced words past the lump in his throat as he stared down the sterile, lifeless hallway.

"You may not pilot a lion anymore, but you'll always be part of team Voltron. Nothing will ever change that, so _please_... stop pushing us away."

The wolf popped into existence beside Keith, no doubt drawn by his distress. He dug his fingers into soft fur, and a blink later, he stood in the middle of his mother's room.

She took one look at his face and folded him into the safety of her arms.

**_Present_ **

Keith was half out of bed, blade in hand, before he woke up enough to register his surroundings. The silhouette in the open doorway raised both hands in surrender, and Keith flopped back on the couch as a familiar voice greeted his fuzzy brain.

"Woah, there. It's just me."

"S'ry," he slurred.

"Don't be. I'm sorry I woke you."

Shiro stepped through the door while Keith rolled to his back and willed his heart to calm. Between the events of the past few quintants and meeting Shiro again after so long apart, he felt like a tightrope walker. A single wrong move could send him plummeting. Taking a deep breath, he sat up, scrubbed both hands over his face, and reminded himself it was only six quintants to the base.

"It's good you did," Keith finally responded as Shiro took a few steps into the room. "I'd rather one of us always be awake to keep an eye on the case, no offense to your crew-"

"Understandable."

"-and I need to deal with Kors and Perid."

"Do you want any help? We could do a good cop, bad cop routine."

Keith snorted in spite of himself. "Let me guess. You wanna be the bad cop?"

"That's me."

Shiro grinned, and if Keith hadn't already been sitting down, it would've knocked him flat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Shiro grin like that - full-fledged, no holds barred. It wasn't until the expression began to fade that Keith realized he needed to reply.

"I've got it covered."

Shiro nodded, his expression falling into hesitance as he turned toward the counter and pulled out a kettle. "Do you want some tea? I, uh... I have some oolong."

The sudden memories stole Keith's breath - sitting next to Shiro as he brewed tea, learning to brew for himself, following along on a trip to a tea shop and picking out his own favorites. It felt like a lifetime ago.

A part of him didn't want to walk that path again. The rest of him really wanted that tea.

"Uh... sure, thanks. Haven't had Earth tea in deca-phoebs."

Shiro let out a low laugh. "I figured."

Keith dropped his feet to the floor, closed his eyes, and reached up to stretch out his sore muscles. A few vargas of sleep weren't going to put a dent in the massive deficit he'd racked up during the past few quintants nor revive his bruised and battered body, but the long nap had helped clear his mind.

A clatter on the counter attracted his attention. Keith opened his eyes to find Shiro righting an empty thermal mug he must have dropped. He threw Keith a sheepish smile, his cheeks flushing pink. Keith looked away.

Even with the minimal time they'd spent together so far, he understood in a visceral way that the man currently making him tea was not the distant captain of the Atlas nor the poised Coalition diplomat of the past. He vaguely remembered Shiro becoming more animated on their vid calls during the last few deca-phoebs, but it was hard to tell since he typically kept those calls as short and infrequent as he could. It hadn't seemed to bother Shiro, and Keith's mental health had thanked him for it.

This Shiro, though - full of grins and earnest attention - threw him for a loop. Something had changed in the four deca-phoebs since they'd last traded pleasantries at the paladin reunion. Until he could discover the route back to their former, safe interactions, he would need to tread carefully.

Glancing up to find Shiro focused on his task, Keith took the opportunity to study his former friend. Perhaps physical changes might give him a clue about how to proceed. The most apparent difference was the attached, symmetrical arm and a slimmer figure. Shiro still had muscle, of course, but he looked more like he had during their pre Kerberos days. Keith gave the obviously Holt-designed flight suit a cursory glance but averted his gaze when it threatened to stray to some of the more well-fitted areas.

"Nice suit," he observed.

"Only the best from the Holts, right? Oh,that reminds me," Shiro said as he glanced back at Keith. "I've got an extra if you want to borrow it until you get yours repaired. It's got the built-in mask and everything."

Keith blinked. "Right. Yeah."

"Great. I put it over there on the shelf next to the bathroom door whenever you're ready for it."

Sure enough, Keith turned to find a folded suit waiting for him near the door, and a churning started up in his gut like he'd been spaced without a jetpack. A smiling, attentive Shiro was one thing, but Keith simply couldn't process a Shiro who not only noticed his broken suit but also prepared ahead enough to set out a new one just in case Keith wanted it. At one point a long time ago it might have seemed normal, but now?

Keith squeezed his eyes closed, inhaled slowly through his nose, and opened his eyes with a slow exhale. The unmoored feeling remained, but he regained some semblance of balance. He distracted himself from the unsettling thoughts by asking the question he'd tried to ask when he first saw Shiro in the airlock.

"So, for real, what are you doing out here? Did you just happen to be out for a pleasure cruise in dead space, or...?"

"Well, the location is Krolia's fault - I think we both know why, now - and as for the reason..." He trailed off as he finished measuring out the loose-leaf tea and turned around to lean against the counter. "I was on my way to Daibazaal when we picked up your message."

Keith frowned for a moment before letting out a long-suffering sigh of understanding. "What's she got you doing now? More Coalition PSAs? I thought they'd be done with that shit by now."

"Not a PSA." Shiro looked down and scuffed his boot against the floor before peeking up through his eyelashes. "More like an ambassadorship."

Keith gaped. He'd expected something temporary - something that would put Shiro back in limelight long enough to distract the public from other, more sensitive operations. That's how the Coalition and the BOM operated now. But the ambassadorship meant-

"You're _moving_ to Daibazaal?" he asked, disbelief dripping from every word.

The follow-up " _why?_ " screamed through his skull, but he refrained from asking. That wasn't their way anymore. As if reading Keith's thoughts, Shiro's features faded into a familiar, neutral expression, but his voice stretched with a strange tension as he responded.

"Is that a problem?"

"No," Keith lied. "Why would it be?"

"Because maybe I should have asked you before-"

The water boiler beeped, and Shiro whirled around to turn it off. He glanced back and opened his mouth to continue, but the conversation no longer interested Keith. If Shiro wished to live on Daibazaal, he was free to do so. They'd lived on the same ship for phoebs and never seen each other outside of meetings. Keith had no doubt they could do the same on a planet the size of Daibazaal. So, he beat Shiro to it and changed the subject.

"Is that why you got the new arm?" he asked as he stood up and began looking around the room to stave off the restlessness building in his limbs.

Shiro half turned toward Keith as he poured water over each cup, and his glances felt like sand under Keith's skin. He wondered for a moment whose stubbornness would win out - if Shiro would press the issue. Instead, Keith heard his soft sigh of resignation.

"Right. You hadn't seen it yet, had you? I made the switch about a year ago, though I'd been working with the Holts on the design for a few months before that."

Familiar scents, earthy and fruity, filled the room, hammering home the sense of nostalgia that had been growing since he set foot on Shiro's ship. Keith's muscles tensed against invasive thoughts of loss and regret, and he breathed out, clearing his mind. Dwelling on the past did no one any good.

And yet, some lingering sentimentality drew him to the wall on Shiro's right, which appeared to be a display for images. As he drew close, he made out a sea of familiar faces and leaned in for a better look.

"They did a great job," Keith said, picking up the thread of conversation as he squinted at the pictures. "Looks natural. I assume that was the point, anyway."

"Thanks. And... partly?"

Keith had the strange sensation of nearly stepping in something foul. The whole conversation felt more and more like he'd taken on a mission, memorized the plan, and then discovered an unexpected hallway full of traps between himself and his goal.

Since the war, he and Shiro had gotten good at their occasional chats, keeping things surface level and no longer delving into emotional subjects. The slow, painful death of their friendship had, in the end, been good for Keith. He'd learned a lot about himself and his emotions and about how to pull back without shutting out the rest of the world in the process.

It had been strange and sobering to realize he could trust Shiro with his life but not with his emotions. His head understood that Shiro had been dealing with a lot of horrific shit - both physical and mental - back then. His heart, on the other hand...

Now, Shiro seemed to be changing the rules on him yet again, but Keith had learned his lesson too well for that. He had no interest in repeating his mistakes. If that meant keeping his distance until Shiro took the hint, so be it.

So, instead of asking Shiro to elaborate, he raised a hand to press against the transparent overlay and focused on the images beneath. A crease in the corner of one caught his eye, and he frowned, genuinely distracted by the sight.

"Hey, are these real photos? Like... printed?"

Shiro moved in his peripheral vision. Keith tried not to tense up as he glanced over to take the offered mug. Thankfully, Shiro stepped back after the transfer and turned his attention to the photos.

"I know it's old fashioned, but there's something nice about a physical reminder of my favorite moments."

Keith snorted as he moved away from Shiro, picking out people and places he recognized. "Fitting for the old timer to..."

He trailed off, his eyes catching on an Earth sunset photo with a familiar pair of legs in the foreground. Next to it was the silhouette of the wolf. Finally, he came across the image of a boy with wild, windswept hair, a smile that looked more like a smirk, and the orange-pink of a desert sunset tinting his face ruddy.

Keith's jaw clenched, an involuntary reflex, and he forced it to release. It didn't matter why Shiro had posted photos of an outing he'd declined to join on a wall of his "favorite moments." That was the past. The past no longer mattered. He breathed out slowly and backed away from the wall, one hand gripping the nape of his neck while the other raised his mug in salute.

"Thanks for the tea. I just need the bathroom for a minute, and then I'll get out of your way."

"You're not in the way," Shiro rushed to assure him.

Keith just nodded and turned away, mad at himself for letting the conversation and photo get to him. And, ok, a little mad at Shiro for introducing a minefield into their previously safe interactions.

Then, he took a sip of the tea and wished he hadn't. Heat and flavor burst over his tongue - bright and floral with a hint of the malt that he loved. He slowed to a stop as the nostalgia careened past his defenses and blew them into disarray. He half turned and raised the mug again.

"It's good."

"I'm glad. I..." He heard Shiro swallow even half-way across the room. "I actually got it for you."

Keith faced forward, his hand slipping from his nape to clutch at the fabric over his heart. Alarm bells blared in his head as he put together all the pieces of their conversation - the new job on Daibazaal, the attempts at deeper conversation, the pictures, the tea - and realized that this was more than just a new set of traps for him to disarm to get back to the status quo. This Shiro, whose keen attention reminded him too much of his younger self defending the universe at his best friend's side, was _dangerous_ to him.

He couldn't go through that again. He _wouldn't_.

Keith let his hand drop.

"You shouldn't have," he murmured in return.

"Keith-"

"We'll talk more later," Keith promised without looking back, working to keep his voice neutral.

With that, he grabbed the suit, entered the bathroom, and closed the door behind him.

↼v⇀

Keith entered the code to the stasis chamber built into the cargo bay wall. The door slid up, and the field dropped. He took a long, steadying breath as the uncomfortable but familiar sensation swept over him.

Quintessence.

He punched a different set of codes into the case's panel, and the lock clicked open. He flicked open the catches and gritted his teeth before lifting the lid just enough for visual confirmation.

Inside the heavily padded case sat three rows of four cubes about the size of the old dice they sometimes sold in the space mall. Like mini black holes, they sucked up every particle of light. Not even a tell-tale glow of quintessence escaped the outer shell, but he could still feel it pummeling his senses.

The room began to wobble. Keith snapped the case shut and locked it. As he closed the stasis chamber - resetting the lock to a new code - he noticed the sheen of sweat covering his brow and cursed the stupidity and greed that had created these monstrosities. If only the "New Empire" as they called themselves had stuck to being pirates, they wouldn't be in this mess.

But that wasn't fair, either, because the New Empire was no mere mish mash of space pirates. Some of the brightest and most nefarious minds in the universe had worked to develop these devices, which they called "harvesters." And deep in the tunnels of the planet where he'd been stationed - and in dozens of other locations across the universe - they continued their evil work.

He leaned on the wall and placed a hand over his blade belt. He couldn't feel the mini drive through the armored material, but he'd double checked it that was there when clipping the belt over the Holt suit. He hoped that Pidge would be able to use the drive to discover a countermeasure against the system killers suspended a few feet from him.

Wiping the dampness from his brow, he straightened and examined his borrowed suit. It fit perfectly, of course, conforming to his body, and the matte gray polymers felt sturdy but light around his body. He flicked the mask and the magnetic boots on and off a few times and played around with the controls to get used to the differences. He missed the familiarity of his BOM suit, but he'd need to fix the comms and reinforce the hastily made patches before he put it on again. He looked down the hallway toward the engine room and then across the cargo bay to the doors to the crew's quarters.

He was here now. He'd grab the tools first. Then he'd deal with Kors and Perid. He headed down the hallway.

The engineering workshop looked identical to the one on Keith's ship, the Erythia. The tools were even in the same place. He walked over to the workbench and plucked a repair kit off the wall.

"Somethin' I can do for you?"

Keith whirled around to find a galra standing in the arched passage that led back to the engine room. He was about Keith's height and sported a fine layer of lavender fur along with darker purple hair cropped around small ears set high on his head. Keith lifted the kit to draw attention to it.

"Just grabbing a tool kit. My other suit took some damage."

The galra hummed and nodded as he approached and opened a drawer in the workbench next to Keith. He rummaged around for a moment before uttering a small sound of triumph.

"This'll do you better than the one you've got."

Keith furrowed his brows but tried to keep the suspicion out of this tone as he took the Blade tool kit and asked, "Where did you get this?"

The galra just laughed. "Kolivan's got you trained up right. I'm Revkar, by the way."

"You know Kolivan?"

"Who doesn't these days?"

"Fair point," Keith conceded.

As a Coalition representative, Kolivan and Krolia had become household names among the politically savvy, but Keith had a feeling there was more to Revkar than that. He couldn't sense anything malicious in the galra, though, so he left things alone... for now.

Keith curled his lip. He hated the fact that he'd become so paranoid about everyone and everything - but a bit of caution had saved his life more than once.

And he groaned internally when he realized that Revkar was right. He really had turned into Kolivan.

As he made his way through the cargo bay, his mind wandered back to his and Shiro's earlier conversation - or at least Shiro's attempt at it. He couldn't help dwelling on what had changed that Shiro was suddenly acting like... like he wanted to be friends again? They'd kept in touch enough for Keith to know he'd resigned as the Garrison/Coalition diplomatic liaison four deca-phoebs ago and then gotten divorced two deca-phoebs ago. Perhaps being alone had made Shiro realize how much he'd isolated himself during and after the war?

He shook his head and sighed. He needed to talk with the others and see if Shiro had made similar attempts with them. It chafed to know that maybe he'd become the outsider of the group once again.

Keith shoved the thought away. Hunk, Lance, Pidge... they were his real friends, the ones who'd refused to leave him or let him fade out of their lives during those first few deca-phoebs after the war when they'd been struggling with life and trauma and moving on. They, along with his mom, Kolivan, Acxa, Romelle and even Coran, had made room for him, and he'd clung to his new family with all the ferocity he'd once reserved for Shiro.

Shiro, on the other hand, had continued to pull away. No amount of reaching out on Keith's part had halted the growing divide, and with each rejection had come the familiar pain of being left behind. On his own, he would have stretched himself across the chasm, waiting for a hand hold that would never appear, until he snapped, but his mother and the rest of his new-found family had pulled him back and helped him understand that in hurting himself, he was hurting them, too. Letting go had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he cared too much about his family to continue down that self-destructive path.

And that had always been the problem, hadn't it? He'd cared too much, too deeply, and in the wrong way. Even now, he cared. He'd never figured out how to stop. The distance, though, had eased his wounded heart and allowed him to heal the best he could.

He couldn't let Shiro draw him back into a situation where he might be hurt again, no matter how innocent or well-intentioned the reasons. He didn't blame Shiro for what happened - at least, not anymore. Once, long ago, he'd raged at the universe for an explanation, but he'd come to accept that Shiro had done what he thought best for himself at the time.

Now, Keith would do the same.

Shaking all personal thoughts from his mind, he came to a stop in front of the room that contained at least one traitor and reached for the panel to pull up a visual - yet another built-in invasion of privacy courtesy of Pidge. Kors and Perid lay on their bunks still dressed in their BOM suits. Both, however, had dropped their masks, and Keith got a good look at his would-be rescuers for the first time.

Like Revkar, Kors sported lavender fur with darker, cropped hair, but her ears were medium-sized, fluffier, and positioned on the sides of her head. She stood a few inches taller than Keith but had a willowy frame. Perid, on the other hand, reminded Keith of Zethrid with the large ears protruding from the sides of her head and the hefty build, standing at least a foot taller than himself. If she were the traitor, things could get difficult.

He had a few choices, but none of them appealed to him. Leaving the two locked up would be safest, but he'd never get information out of them that way. It might also mean leaving an actual BOM agent alone with a traitor, and even after all this time working in covert operations, that kind of thing didn't sit well with Keith. He could ask two of Shiro's crew to double up to keep them in separate rooms, but that didn't solve the problem of a lack of information. Ideally, he wanted to know how many traitors might be within their ranks before walking into that BOM base.

Another option would be to let them both wander free in hopes that one or both would give themselves away by trying to open comms or access the case. That was, by far, the riskiest option, especially considering it would put the others on board in danger.

Keith sighed and let his head fall forward. He was half tempted to change his mind and take Shiro up on his good cop, bad cop offer. Too bad he didn't know Shiro well enough anymore to make that work.

And he couldn't do torture. Not after everything he'd experienced and especially not on Shiro's ship. But maybe he could bluff his way through with a middle ground between the first two options?

Reaching again for the panel, he keyed in the lock override. The door slid open. Both women sat up in their bunks, looking at each other before fixing their eyes on him.

"Commander-"

"Keith is fine, Kors. Either of you hungry?"

Keith noted the way Perid glanced at Kors before nodding slowly. Kors shrugged.

"I'd prefer an explanation for why we were locked into this room."

So, she'd noticed. Straight to the point, then. Keith looked up and down the hall before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

"I'll be blunt. There is one person on this ship I trust fully and completely, and that person is me. I want to keep us separated from the Lipara crew until we reach the Blade base. So, we stick together when awake. No wandering off, no going anywhere alone. When sleeping, we lock ourselves away."

"Can't the crew just unlock the door?" Kors asked, a skeptical note coloring her tone.

"Nope. I use special codes that only the designer of the ship knows."

"Your friend, the former green paladin?"

It was a risk to confirm but a calculated one. "Yes."

"If you're not in here with us, how will you stay safe?"

Perid's deep voice tumbled through the room, and Keith realized he'd never heard her speak before. He held her gaze for a long moment before responding.

"I have my ways. Now, do you all want to eat and maybe do some training? There's a mat and some equipment in the cargo bay."

They gave their affirmatives with a bit more pep than before, but Keith could see their doubt. As they all filed out of the room, he stretched his neck and prepared for battle - both mental and physical.

He'd get them to talk.

↼v⇀

He couldn't get them to talk.

Not just about their pasts or how they came to be in the Blades, but about anything at all. They gave one-word answers or nods if they could get away with it. They'd been training for vargas, all three of them worn out from their ordeal, lack of sleep, and now long rounds on the sparring mats. He'd found that they weren't as skilled as him, but both were well trained in Blade moves. Neither, however, would tell him who they'd trained under. Finally, after pinning Kors with a chest hold, she hissed the obvious answer at him.

"Why do you continue to ask personal questions when the enemy could be listening?"

Dumbstruck, he loosened his hold. She turned the move on him, pinning him with her wiry strength until he yielded. She got up and offered him a hand, her arched brow challenging him to refuse. He clapped his hand into hers and let her pull him up, even as he contained the surge of frustration at his own mistake.

He'd overdone his mistrust, and they now had the perfect excuse to evade his questions. He felt like an idiot, _and_ his neck hurt.

He walked to the side and grabbed a water pouch. He drained it and looked at the time. Six vargas had passed since he left Shiro's room.

"Alright, that's enough for today."

Perid and Kors broke apart from where they'd taken to trading punches. Perid shuffled over, her expression turning hesitant.

"Can we have more food?"

"Sure."

Keith led them to the kitchen and communal lounge area in back of the crew's quarters. He encouraged them to take their time grabbing goo and trying some of the stores of popular Daibazaal and Earth foods. Before they headed back to the rooms, Keith let Perid gather up extra rations for their room. Perid grinned, a wide, terrifying thing full of fangs.

Kors remained quiet through it all. He sometimes felt her gaze fall on him when he wasn't looking directly at her, but he was careful to keep them both in his peripheral vision at all times. The more time he spent with them, the more inclined he was to believe that they were both traitors, especially since they both supposedly carried luxite blades but had wrapped the hilts in the same way his father had wrapped Krolia's blade.

BOM leadership always collected blades from fallen comrades if they could, but inevitably, some were lost. He could know instantly by checking for a shining symbol on the hilt, but asking for their blades outright would give away his suspicions and likely bring on a confrontation. He couldn't risk that. At least, not yet.

He led them back to their room. Kors gave him another long look as she walked into the room and sat down on her bunk. Once they were both inside, he said his farewells and locked the door once again. This time, he brought up both audio and video. He watched for several doboshes, but Kors only laid down on her bunk while Perid happily filled one of the compartments between their beds with the extra goo and water rations. Sighing, he set up a long-term recording, darkened the panel, and turned away.

His feet dragged as he walked down the hall and stopped in front of Shiro's room. The lack of sleep, sparring, and constant vigilance had taken their toll, and he wasn't sure he had the mental fortitude to deal with Shiro's onslaught of...

Quiznack, what was it? Friendliness? Kindness? Just plain Shiro-ness?

Keith jumped as the door slid open and he came face-to-face with the subject of his musings. Shiro took a step back and then laughed.

"I had no idea you were so scared of opening doors."

Keith just stared, his brain giving up the fight against exhaustion. Shiro's expression fell into concern.

"Coming in?"

Keith nodded and stepped inside before finally finding something to say. "Don't let me keep you. I'm just going to crash again, I think."

"Ok, I was heading for the flight deck to check on Anne, but since you're here, uh..."

Shiro trailed off as Keith started walking to the bathroom. He needed a shower. And maybe he could stay awake long enough to do some repairs on his BOM suit. He'd just reached the bathroom door when Shiro finished his sentence.

"I brought my trimmers. Do you want help with your hair?"

Keith raised a hand to his nape as if noticing the uneven cut for the first time. He rarely looked in the mirror these days, so it had slipped his mind, but...

"Yeah," he mumbled, he should trim his hair.

He entered the bathroom and wandered over to the mirror to look at himself. He grimaced at the sight that greeted him - choppy hair more suited for a toddler who'd gotten a hold of mommy's scissors, dark circles under his eyes, and the fake Altean marks that he couldn't get rid of until he met up with Pidge or Coran again. It all worked well as a cover for infiltrating the New Empire, but he doubted Kolivan would appreciate the look on a Senior Blade.

His thoughts would have spiraled further, but Shiro's presence suddenly filled the small room, leaving Keith to lament his tired brain and the fact that Shiro hadn't asked if Keith wanted to trim his hair but rather if he wanted _help_. Shiro set down the trimmer and met Keith's eyes in the mirror.

It was the closest he'd allowed Shiro since their time in the airlock, and Keith was struck all over again by the surreal feeling of being eye-level with the man he'd always looked up to in some way or another. As if tracking his thoughts, Shiro moved his flattened palm from the top of his head over the top of Keith's head. Still about an inch short, but close enough.

"When did you get so tall?"

"All at once about two deca-phoebs ago. Mom calls it my galra puberty because she thinks the face I make when she says it is hysterical."

"Your faces can be pretty funny."

Keith scoffed to hide the tremor in his voice. "Don't think I've forgotten how hard you laughed at me for those PSAs."

Shiro bent away from Keith, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain his laughter. Keith swallowed down the surge of bile that always followed any mention of those vid clips and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up." He made another face, this time a half smile, half grimace. "That growth spurt hurt like a bitch. I grew five inches in less than two phoebs."

Shiro's amusement died down, his face turning sympathetic. "Yeah, I remember that feeling. Did the doctors have anything to say about it?"

"What? Galra doctors? Pfffft. No. Just that I'd finally grown into my heritage. I guess it's pretty common for galra to keep growing into their thirties and forties since they live so long."

Keith swallowed and looked away. _They think it means I might have a longer lifespan than a full-blooded human,_ he didn't say. Shiro picked up the trimmer.

"Well, I guess I'd better get at it before you grow so tall that I can't reach your head anymore. How do you want it? I'm pretty good with an undercut."

Shiro grinned again, inviting Keith to join in the jokes. Instead, Keith closed his eyes, the exhaustion making him feel weak and defenseless as a newborn kitten.

"Whatever you think is best. Just try to get rid of the worst of the chunks."

Shiro hummed, directed Keith to sit on the edge of the sink, and got to work. Keith kept his eyes closed and wondered if this would be how he finally lost his mind. He endured touch after touch to his ears, the sides of his head, his neck, and his shoulders as Shiro moved him where he needed him. After the past deca-phoeb and a half, he knew he was probably touch starved, but this - fleeting nudges and light presses of fingers from the person he most and least wanted to touch him - might just be the thing that drove him over the edge.

"Your ears," Shiro murmured.

Keith's eyelids fluttered as Shiro's fingers traced the pointed tip of his ear. It took him a moment before he could gather enough words to speak, his voice little more than a rasp.

"Happened the same time as the growth spurt. I can make them round if I concentrate."

"Wow. Really?"

"Don't have the energy right now."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean... you don't have to. I mean... it looks-"

"Gotcha," Keith interrupted.

He had no desire to hear the rest of that garbled sentence. The closeness alone was eating into his resolve, and it made him so _tired_. The hum of the trimmer seemed to grow louder, and Keith lost himself in the sound until Shiro's voice cut through, more hesitant than before.

"Keith?"

Keith kept his eyes firmly shut. "Hmmm?"

"You deliberately left me out of these missions, didn't you?"

"No."

Shiro huffed in his ear. Keith shivered as Shiro tried again.

"You said this has been going on for five-"

"No, _I_ didn't. _We_ did. The others agreed it was for the best."

The trimmer clicked off. Keith kept his head down for a moment before taking a deep breath in. And then out. Fuck, he was just so quiznaking tired. He raised his head and met Shiro's narrowed gaze.

"Because you thought I couldn't handle it?"

Keith jerked his head back in annoyed surprise. "What? No."

"Then why?"

"Shiro, you _know_ why." He turned to look at himself in the mirror. The person staring out at him was a stranger, much like the person standing next to him. He locked eyes with Shiro in the mirror. "Why are you asking the question when you already know the answer?"

Shiro's eyes closed. "Because I'm selfish. And I need to hear you say it."

The honesty of the words blew Keith away. He struggled for footing, desperate to keep himself safe from the man who'd once promised to never give up on him.

"Alright," Keith ground out. "We didn't tell you because you seemed... content. Because we knew what you'd been through, and we didn't want to drag you into another long fight. But mostly..."

Shiro's eyes had slowly opened at Keith's words, his jaw hanging slack. Keith looked down into the sink covered with ragged chunks of his hair. His chest felt raw, like tenderized meat.

"Mostly because we'd stopped asking you to join us for _anything_ outside of the reunion a long time ago. This came up, and we just... didn't think about you. When it finally occurred to us, we agreed it was better to leave you in peace." His head, already woozy from everything else, began a slow drumbeat of pain. He pressed his fingers into his temples, refusing to look at Shiro. "Sorry... can we be done talking now?"

"Ye-"

Shiro's voice broke. Keith squeezed his eyes closed.

"Yeah. Sure, Keith."

A few soft steps padded away, and then the door whooshed closed, leaving Keith blessedly alone with his strung out emotions. It took him a full fifteen doboshes to get himself to the shower. Once there, though, he scrubbed thoroughly, being sure to scour over all the tingling places Shiro had touched him.

Only five quintants to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter took *forever* to write because I was trying to get Keith's mindset in these moments just right. Sorry if anyone was hoping for a giant, angsty confrontation - we're working on slow-burn angst right now. Just letting things simmer...
> 
> More Shiro next chapter!


	5. In for a Pound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But he grew old—  
> This knight so bold—  
> And o’er his heart a shadow—  
> Fell as he found  
> No spot of ground  
> That looked like Eldorado.
> 
> Shiro reflects on the power of denial while also discovering he might not be the only one indulging in that particular emotion. The mystery of the maybe blades continues, but Keith's got his suspicions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: I just want to reiterate that Curtis appears occasionally in this fic in flashbacks and references, and though they are now divorced, this is not an anti-Curtis fic. If you prefer not to read things involving him, you can skip the flashback and go straight to the "Present" section.**

_**5.5 years ago** _

An insistent beeping pulled Shiro out of his daze. He wiped bleary eyes and picked up his discarded pad, surprised to find a stack of missed notifications on screen. Dread trickled down his spine. He flicked his gaze to the clock. Ten seconds of dumbfounded silence ticked by before he rocketed out of his chair.

" _Shit!_ "

The pad beeped again, but he ignored it, scrambling for his things in the dark. His office was high enough above the shielded lights of the Garrison compound to see the stars, but the sight did nothing to calm his panicked breathing.

He'd lost four hours this time. And he'd promised Curtis he'd be home three hours ago.

The drive home passed in a blur of deep breaths punctuated by curses until he pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. Warm light poured from the living room window like a welcome home banner, but the sight only made Shiro's heart race faster.

Leaving his things in the car, he strode toward the house. The earlier dread now pooled in his stomach as the front door opened to reveal Curtis' silhouette. The screen door burst open.

"Takashi?" Curtis raced out to meet him and grasped his arms. "I was so worried. I've been trying to reach you for hours!"

"I know," Shiro breathed. "I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

Curtis left off the "this time" but Shiro heard it anyway. He flicked his gaze toward the house.

"Can we talk inside?"

"Oh, yeah, of course."

Shiro took off his shoes and settled on the couch facing away from the abandoned candles, flowers, and fine china in the dining room. Curtis sat on the edge of a chair across from him. Shiro opened his mouth, but Curtis beat him to it, his voice trembling as he gazed at his clasped hands.

"Is there someone else?"

Shiro blinked. He hadn't thought of that, though he could see how Curtis got there. Shame poured into his empty chest.

"No. There's no one else. I'd never do that."

"I know," Curtis said as he looked up, relief apparent in his gaze. "I know you wouldn't on purpose, but... life happens sometimes and-"

"It's not that."

Curtis accepted the interruption with grace, as always. Shiro had never felt more like he didn't deserve the man in front of him than in this moment.

"I just..." Shiro swallowed and looked down, unable to hold his husband's gaze. "I got caught up at work."

"At work?"

Shiro closed his eyes against the incredulous tone, and the pain in his temples evolved into throbbing agony. He knew his usual excuses wouldn't work this time, but the truth - a carefully guarded secret for more than five years - stuck like glue in his mouth. He grit his teeth and forced himself to speak his shame anyway.

"It was a long day, and once I was alone at the office, I sort of... zoned out." The catch in Curtis' breath echoed in Shiro's ears. He couldn't bear to open his eyes as he continued, "I just need more sleep, and I'm sure-"

"What do you mean 'zoned out'?"

"Just... um..." He sighed and rubbed his aching temples. "Losing time, I guess?"

"Is that why you're so late most days?"

Shiro hesitated before admitting, "Sometimes."

"Takashi," Curtis breathed, his voice cautious as he added, "You need to see a doctor."

Shame and dread congealed into a rope to tie his insides into knots, and he stood from the couch to pace. "I can deal with it. I don't need more doctors-"

"No."

Curtis' forceful tone shocked Shiro into stillness. He lifted his gaze to find his normally soft-spoken husband standing with his hands fisted at his sides.

"You keep telling me you're fine, but whatever's going on... it's only getting worse. You work all the time. When you're not working you exercise yourself to exhaustion. You hardly sleep anymore, leaving our bed in the middle of the night to go who knows where on that hoverbike-"

"I don't go anywhere," Shiro countered. "I just ride."

The words tasted like a lie, though he couldn't pinpoint why. He only ever stopped at his normal spot out in the desert.

"And what if you had an accident?" Curtis continued, his voice trembling now. "How would I know if something happened to you?"

"The arm monitors my status," he answered, knowing full well how ridiculous it sounded. "It would send a message."

Curtis burst into bitter laughter and unclenched a fist to rub a hand over his forehead. When he looked up again, tears glistened in his eyes.

"A message? Right. 'Dear Curtis, thought you'd like to know your husband is bleeding out in the middle of nowhere. Have a nice night.'" A tear escaped and tracked down his cheek. "It's our _anniversary_ , Takashi, and you spent it 'zoned out' in your office. That isn't normal. It isn't _healthy_."

Shiro winced but made no attempt at a reply. What could he say that wouldn't dig himself deeper? A low static hum started up in his ears, and he shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

Arms circled around Shiro, and he stiffened as Curtis drew him into a gentle hug. He sucked in a breath the way his grandfather had taught him when the muscle pain got especially bad. It had helped him through much of the past five years, but even the deep breaths couldn't touch the tangle of panic that now snaked through his body.

He was failing. Everyone. Everything. He'd thought he could keep himself in check, keep the memories at bay, but they only found new ways to shame him.

Curtis' arms tightened. Shiro felt them like a vice, crushing his chest. He threw his arm out to break the hold and backed away, trying and failing to keep his breathing under control.

"Takashi!"

"I c-can't-" he gasped. "I need to-"

Shiro stumbled across the room, his body and mind numb as if waking from anesthesia. Curtis called out and then followed, grabbing Shiro's arm as he shoved his feet into his boots.

"Where are you going?"

"Out... I need... out."

"I'll go with you."

Shiro ripped out of Curtis' grip. "No!"

" _Please_. Let me... let me _help_ you."

Guilt ripped through the numbness, filling the spaces not covered in shame with an avalanche of self-loathing. He paused to cup Curtis' tear-stained face and speak his worst truth.

"You can't."

Curtis put his hands over Shiro's, his genial face turning fierce. "Then you need to find someone who can. You can't go on like this, Takashi."

The words echoed in Shiro's ears as he pulled away. Staring at his husband, the man he'd wanted to love, wanted to cherish, wanted to deserve, he knew with sudden clarity that he'd been fooling himself all along.

Monsters like him didn't get a happy ending.

He snatched up his leather jacket and burst through the garage door. Curtis didn't follow, and Shiro didn't know whether to be grateful or concerned. As usual, he couldn't feel either one. Even the guilt and shame drained away, leaving behind the deep emptiness of a cracked soul.

With a press of the ignition, the whir of the hoverbike filled his ears. A spark of excitement touched his blood, adrenaline honing his focus and steadying his hands. He pulled on his goggles, pushed the bike into the street, and took off in a flurry of grit and wind.

He sped through subdivision streets until he reached the turn off into the desert. The just-risen moon hung heavy on the horizon, coating the desert in a silver glaze. It beckoned him, and he answered, all else forgotten in the name of speed. With each turn, he leaned further into the pull of gravity, clipping corners in explosions of dust and rock.

As the desert flew beneath him, the tangle inside slowly unwound. Not completely - it never did - but enough to think more clearly.

Habit led him past familiar landmarks, twisting through canyons and hills, until he came to his outcropping. There was no sinking sun to set fire to the sand, but Shiro's mind flipped like an antique calendar back to those hazy days before the galra shattered his world... and, as he was beginning to understand, his mind as well.

The ghost of a graveled voice murmured in his ear, at once soothing and teasing, and something released in Shiro's chest. A sliver of feeling pushed upward, slicing through the numbness. It wouldn't last, Shiro knew, and as the crushing loneliness overflowed into his empty spaces, he thought it was a feeling he'd happily give up again.

He shouldn't be lonely. He had good friends, a loving husband, and an adopted family in the Holts. Yet the feeling of isolation remained.

He wondered if he should want to cry.

His eyes remained as dry as the surrounding desert and his heart as cold as the wind that whipped through the canyon. And standing alone on a cliff that had once been a stop for two, he admitted what he'd never been able to before.

He needed help.

_**Present** _

Shiro sat ram-rod straight in the pilot's chair, fists clenched on his thighs, and stared into the black abyss of space. He'd been alone on the flight deck since he'd taken over for Anne seven varga ago and had spent most of that time alternating between working out what had happened between him and Keith and cursing his stupidity.

He unclenched his fists and leaned forward to bury his face in his hands, taking a deep breath to hold back another stifling wave of regret. A part of him had understood he was pushing too hard - had understood it since the moment he'd noticed Keith's unease nearly a quintant ago.

Doc's voice echoed through Shiro's mind - _what helps you may harm him_.

Instead of heeding her warning, though, he'd focused on his own hurt feelings, fixating on the familiar sensation of being outside the paladin group once again. He'd even admitted to Keith he was being selfish, for fuck's sake. Everything he could have done wrong, he did. Every boundary he should have respected, he crossed.

He wiped his hands down his face and sighed. He'd always been adept at surface-level interactions, a beneficial trait for a diplomat of the Coalition, but when it came to relationships with any kind of depth, he couldn't seem to get it right. He'd thought... He'd _hoped_ his time in therapy and learning about himself had made a difference, even if it hadn't been enough to save his marriage. Yet here he was, making the same mistakes all over again.

Although that wasn't quite right, either. His previous mistakes had revolved around not talking about anything and pretending his trauma didn't exist. He'd buried the panic, the pain, the fear, the attraction, until he couldn't feel much of anything at all. He'd kept at arm's length anyone who knew him as the black paladin and created a new Takashi Shirogane with people who'd heard only vague stories of his "adventures" in space.

People who weren't living, breathing reminders of his most monstrous moments.

He still remembered the terrible war that had raged inside him whenever he got too close to Keith during those first days after their fight. At the time, the clone's memories had been indistinct, like bees flitting around the hive, never staying in place long enough to catch more than snippets, but Shiro had remembered enough. _He_ had tried to kill his best friend. _He_ had scarred Keith's face, and he... _they_ had been terrified of doing it again. Yet he'd also craved his friend's closeness and comfort to fight back the soul-crushing loneliness and disassociation of spending more than a year as an unmoored consciousness in the astral plane. He didn't fit in the skin he wore, but Keith's presence, his voice and touch, had eased the creeping horror of living in what felt like a stolen body.

Then, the two sides had clashed in a disastrous way, overwhelming Shiro with raw emotions he had no capacity to process. After that, controlling his every thought, emotion, and action became paramount in order to fight back his neediness as well as the constant terror that he might once again become a weapon instead of a person.

Keith cutting off his arm had been a blessing in that regard, yet the loss meant he couldn't bury his emotions in work during the trip to earth. He'd been left to "recover" - to wallow in the hell of his own making - and wrapped up in his own grief, pain and shame, he'd failed to see that Keith was struggling, too.

Keith had tried so hard to be there for him. To... to _love_ him. But Shiro hadn't been able to see it. Not then. Even now, that time seemed more like a hazy dream than reality.

Thanks to Doc, however, the weight of his own emotions no longer hung around his neck like a drowning stone. He'd learned to process and accept the memories, feelings, and _body_ of the person who had replaced him while he nearly lost himself in an endless abyss. He'd learned how to be himself again after years of pretending to be someone else. He'd healed. He'd _changed_ , but...

Shiro froze, his lungs burning with lack of air as the pieces shifted and clicked into place. He sucked in a deep breath and then breathed out, "You complete _idiot_."

Shoving out of the chair, he began to pace in front of the flight dias. He'd joked with Doc about feeling like a new man, but it actually felt more like he'd uncovered the parts of himself he'd buried since being violated by Honerva's mind control and abandoned in Black's endless mindscape. He'd changed in the sense that he felt more like the friend, mentor, and brother to a passionate boy bursting with potential than he had since before the war.

But Keith... he didn't _know_ that.

How could he? Shiro had been going through the tough parts of his therapy four deca-phoebs ago, and they'd barely talked since then. He cursed himself for not revealing more of his struggles over their brief vid calls, but he'd wanted to talk about it in person. Besides, Keith had always seemed to be in such a hurry...

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed out a long breath as yet another missed cue became glaringly obvious. Keith had blamed the shortness of the calls on his schedule with the Blades. Shiro had happily believed the lie because it was easier than facing the truth that now dragged him down.

He'd pushed Keith away, and Keith had eventually accommodated the unspoken request for space.

Every brief meeting, every cut-off call now came back to Shiro in the proper context, and he could only marvel again at his ability to ignore reality. Doc had helped him see a portion of the truth - all the nights he'd found himself on a hoverbike heading to that familiar cliff might have been less an old habit and more about missing his best friend. His subconscious mind had been searching for Keith.

But then again, Keith had never truly cut ties. He'd always answered or called back when Shiro reached out. He'd always greeted Shiro with a genuine smile at their yearly meet ups. The closeness they'd once shared had faded into polite distance so slowly, and Shiro had been so busy suturing wounds that were increasingly bleeding out, that he'd failed to see the true magnitude of that distance until coming face to face with it during the past couple of quintants.

Shiro paused and reached out for a chair, his polymer fingers gripping the back until it creaked. He wanted to fix things, but after his poor beginning, he wondered if he'd ruined his chances.

Pushing Keith to talk was obviously not the answer. But before that, with small actions such as the suit and the tea, Shiro felt like he'd been making progress. Not a lot, and he'd gotten too flustered and impatient while trimming Keith's hair, but it was still progress. Shiro's shift on the flight deck was coming to an end soon, so perhaps he could see if there were other things-

The door to the flight deck slid open, and he looked up expecting to see Felicia. Instead, the subject of his thoughts strode into the room and swung himself into the co-pilot seat with a grace that belied his increased height. Keith's hands went to work, swiping through the menus, and Shiro couldn't help being drawn into the motions. His eyes flicked from long fingers to callused palms to muscled arms to broad shoulders before coming to rest on Keith's face.

Shiro had been too busy tanking his conversation with Keith to appreciate the new cut at the time, but now, his lips curved into a soft smile as he took in the trimmed sides that showed off Keith's amazing jaw line and the longer, mussed hair at his crown that gave him a roguish look. Keith had always been objectively good looking, but the new cut along with his uncompromising air of command pulled at something in Shiro's gut.

Which was another problem altogether. Like a tidal-locked moon, Shiro couldn't seem to look away from Keith - a hauntingly familiar feeling that he remembered as both a bright spot and a curse in the midst of a decade-old nightmare. Now, after unblocking his long-buried emotions, the pull had returned, along with something else... something _more_.

Shiro's smile dipped into a frown. He attempted to look away, but before he could force his eyes to obey, Keith's gaze flicked over to him.

"Hey," Keith murmured before looking at the screen again.

"H-" Shiro ran out of air, sucked in a deep breath, and tried again. "Hey. Anything I can help with?"

Keith motioned to the pilot's chair. "Pidge isn't here to build me one of her fancy programs, so you can help by scrubbing through the last half of this video and looking for Kors and Perid doing anything suspicious."

"Kors and... you recorded them?"

"Yeah," Keith responded without looking up. "Make you nervous?"

Shiro snorted. "I fully expect Pidge already does that. So no, not really."

"Fair."

The single word held a hint of laughter, and the sound released a tension inside Shiro he hadn't known he'd been holding. Falling into the pilot's chair, he looked up to find that Keith had flicked a copy of the video onto his screen. He'd opened his mouth to ask where to start when Keith leaned over the console and into Shiro's space to scrub to the midpoint of the video. A concerning wave of heat washed over him as the scent of his own shampoo mixed with Keith's distinctive spice invaded his nose. Keith's gaze whipped to him, and Shiro had just enough wherewithal to snap his mouth shut.

"You okay?"

"Yup."

He popped his p... and his skin flushed hot with embarrassment. Keith's brows furrowed, and Shiro wondered if the pilot seat came with an emergency eject button. He'd have to talk to Pidge about it.

"You sure?" Keith prompted. "You look a little..."

He trailed off as his head tilted in confusion. Shiro took the opportunity to sit up straight in his chair and gesture to the screen.

"Anything in particular you're looking for?"

Keith held Shiro's gaze for another long moment before leaning back to his own side. "Either of them messing with the room panels, or pulling out new or unrecognizable tech... or just anything that seems out of the ordinary."

"Got it."

With that, Shiro focused on scrubbing through his portion of the video. Or he tried to, anyway, but the earlier heat had brought with it a new and an unnerving awareness of Keith's movements that hindered his progress. He'd just snuck another glance when Keith's hushed voice filled the space between them.

"I'm not mad, if that's what you're worried about."

Shiro glanced over, but Keith's gaze remained fixed on his screen. "What?"

"You keep looking at me like I'm gonna bite you or something."

A completely inappropriate image flashed through Shiro's mind, accompanied by another burst of tingling heat that expanded from his chest and set every cell in his body on fire. A quiet gasp escaped his lips. At the sound, Keith jerked his head around to stare, and Shiro forced his mouth to make words.

"It's nothing. I'm not..." Shiro glued his eyes to his holoscreen, ears burning. "So, we're okay, then?"

Keith remained quiet for a long moment, but Shiro didn't dare look at him, his whole body still melting. Finally, Keith spoke, his voice carrying a bit more gravel than usual.

"Sure, Shiro."

Shiro did look over then, his awkwardness replaced with sorrow. Keith had turned his full attention back to his screen, but his frown, deep enough to form a divot in his brow, confirmed the truth Shiro already knew.

They were not okay. They hadn't been okay for a long time. And Shiro's ill-timed feelings could only muddy the waters further.

He forced his gaze to his own screen, his mind swirling with disjointed memories and thoughts. He'd need more time to fully process everything and determine what - if anything - should be done. For now, though, Keith had asked him to help, so he would help.

It took several doboshes to calm himself enough to concentrate on his task, but eventually he settled. They worked in relative silence while Shiro ignored the occasional shuffles and hums from Keith as best he could.

Felicia arrived twenty doboshes later, apologizing profusely for her lateness. Keith flicked both screens to dark, though Shiro hadn't finished his section, and stood from the co-pilot seat. Shiro stood with him.

"Will you be in the training area as usual, sir?" Felicia asked.

"Yes," Shiro and Keith replied at the same time.

A hint of pink appeared on Keith's cheeks as he flicked his gaze to Shiro. "You joining us, then?"

"Yes and no. I have my own exercises."

Keith just nodded and headed out. Shiro followed close behind. When the flight deck door slid closed behind them, he spoke again.

"I take it you didn't find anything?"

"Nothing that I could see, though I still had half a varga left to review."

Keith shrugged as he stopped in front of Kors and Perid's room. "Probably nothing there, but I'll check it later just in case."

He turned away and began tapping on the darkened panel. Shiro understood he'd been dismissed, and though his instinct was to stay, he forced his body down the hall to his own quarters instead.

He took his time changing from his uniform into loose workout pants and a sleeveless shirt. When he arrived at the training mats, the other three were already sparring. Shiro tapped the panel near the door, and the floor slid open to reveal a second, smaller mat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kors break form to watch him walk to the second mat, tap his arm to start the timer, and fall into form.

He blocked out the rest of the room and concentrated on his body, acknowledging each muscle and sinew that held his balance and paying attention to every breath in and out that flooded his body with life-giving oxygen. The tension in his neck and shoulders became apparent, though he knew what had caused that. Sweeping the thought to the side, he planted his feet, sank further in the pose, and imagined himself as an oak growing roots down into the floor and strong, healthy branches up to the sky.

After a time, a gentle buzz in his arm pushed him into motion. Tensing his muscles, he moved forward with slow, precise steps and arced his arms in his chosen forms, repeating the motions forward, then back. Each form gained in complexity using his knowledge of various combat styles, and sweat broke out over his skin as he breathed in and out through the motions. Forward and back. In and out. Fast then slow. Over and over again.

A final buzz sent him back into the starting pose, and he held the position as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He took the moment to feel the connection with his surroundings, the burn in his muscles, and the cool air against damp skin.

He opened his eyes and was surprised to find himself facing three inquisitive pairs of eyes. He couldn't help but be drawn to nebulous irises, but Kors' voice commandeered his attention before he could parse the strange look on Keith's face.

"That was exquisite, Ambassador. Was it a dance of some kind?"

"More like moving meditation. It's my starting forms for a martial art called Taiki-ken."

"Could you teach us?"

Shiro looked at Keith, who only shrugged before averting his gaze. Shiro breathed through the sting in his chest.

"Maybe tomorrow you all can join me. For now, I'd love to see what you can do."

"If you spar with us, that will make even pairs," Perid pointed out.

Shiro's gaze flicked to Keith again. This time, their eyes met. Keith's brows furrowed for a moment before nodding.

"You can start with Kors if you want," he said as he dropped into position with Perid.

"I'm not really dressed for it like you," Shiro said as Kors approached, outfitted in her Blade suit as usual, "so you'll have to go easy on me."

"Of course, Ambassador."

As Shiro and Kors began to circle one another, Shiro flicked his head toward the other two. "You and Perid seem like a cohesive team. How long have you been working together?"

Instead of answering, Kors leaped at him. Shiro blocked and let her fly past him. She nearly lost her balance, but with a bit of a wobble she returned to circling him on the mat.

"About a deca-phoeb," she said before attacking again, this time aiming high.

Shiro ducked down and kicked out, but she danced away from the hit. With a feint to the left, she swung at him from the right. He blocked and then struck out, his flesh fist connecting with her sternum. She gasped. Shiro took out her legs and pinned her to the mat.

"I yield," she wheezed.

They went through many more rounds, and though he retained the upper hand most of the time, Kors managed to pin him twice. In between, he tried to get her to talk about herself or Perid, but what she lacked in combat skill, she made up for in evasiveness. As they circled each other once more, both panting from their efforts, Shiro decided to take a different tact.

"I admit I was surprised to hear you'd been attacked by pirates all the way out here. That case must contain something pretty important, huh?"

Kors frowned. "The commander has not told you?"

"He won't tell me anything," Shiro said with what he hoped wasn't an overexaggerated grimace. "Says it's not my business."

Kors blinked before narrowing her eyes at him. "But... he is Kogane and you are Shirogane of Voltron, correct? You were paladins together?"

"Zarkon and Alfor were once paladins together, too," he replied with a shrug. "A lot can change in ten deca-phoebs."

The words hit closer to home than he liked, and Kors used his distraction to strike. He lifted an arm just in time to block the first hit. She followed up with a kick that landed squarely in his mid-section. He took the hit, pushing the pain to the back of his mind as he blocked another attack. They grappled for a moment, and Kors leaned in close.

"What is your point, _Champion_?"

The epithet took him by surprise, but he kept his grip when she tried to wriggle free. He landed a precise kick to the back of her knee to send her to the floor while holding her arms behind her back. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear.

"My point is if there's something dangerous on my ship, I want to know about it. You could help me with that."

"You would have me betray my Commander?"

"Not betray. I just want to be informed... to know what I'm risking my ship and crew for. Do you know?"

He held her motionless for a moment. She let out a hiss of breath.

"I yield."

Shiro let go and watched Kors stand up. She turned toward him and slowly eyed him up and down before looking over at Perid and Keith. Shiro followed her gaze just in time to watch Keith take down the massive galra, his face twisted into a growl and his muscles bulging as he pinned her to the mat. Shiro swallowed, both appreciating and cursing Pidge's skin-tight suit design. He jerked at the sound of Kors' voice right next to him.

"I believe you have bigger problems than I can help you with, Ambassador."

With that, she rejoined the others. Keith pulled Perid up and then looked toward Shiro. Their eyes locked, and Keith gave him a quick nod before turning away to speak with Kors.

Dismissed again. Shiro closed his eyes, feeling the tension seep back into the places he'd just worked free as he considered exactly how out of practice he was at combat, diplomacy... and friendship. He thought about staying to watch, but after his embarrassing moment with Kors, he decided a tactical retreat would be best. Taking a deep breath, he left the room to find food, a couple vargas of relaxation time, and then his bed. Perhaps it would all seem less like a disaster after some sleep.

↼v⇀

Shiro woke to the soft buzz of his arm. With so much on his mind, he'd had trouble falling asleep, but at least the few varga he'd managed had been restful - something that still felt like a novelty after so many deca-phoebs of struggling with nightmares and insomnia. He still had bad nights, but they were few and far between.

Swinging out of bed, he headed to the bathroom, only to stop short at a faint shuffling on the other side of the door. He took a step forward and tapped his fingers on the panel. A clatter reverberated through the wall followed by a hissed curse.

"Yeah? Uh... just a minute?"

"No problem," Shiro replied, frowning at the sudden uptick in his heart rate at the simple sound of Keith's voice. "Take your time."

He stood outside the door for another moment, trying to process his increasingly physical responses, but the old emotions felt hazy and indistinct, like fog creeping through a rainy mountain valley, while the new ones still took him by surprise. Backing away from the door, he exited through the bedroom into his living area and began the process of making tea, setting aside an herbal for Keith in case he wanted it.

The water boiler beeped just as Keith emerged from the bathroom. Shiro glanced over with a smile and then looked away before he could get caught up.

"Do you want some herbal tea?"

"Uh, sure."

Shiro kept his gaze on the tea but his ears honed in on the rustling sounds of Keith preparing the couch for sleeping. His skin grew hot as he remembered how cavalierly he'd offered his own bed... had it been only two quintants ago? Yet, even now, it felt like a natural response to how close they'd once been - a closeness he'd foolishly believed they still shared.

Or, perhaps if he were being completely honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd been living in denial. They hadn't been close since that moment in the belly of Black when Shiro had first closed himself off from Keith and the traumatic memories he triggered.

Of his many sessions with Doc, those dealing with the fight at the facility had been particularly excruciating. Even with all he'd endured before then, many of his later issues stemmed from that single event. As he'd unwound the trauma of Honerva's mind control and learned how to separate himself from Honerva's thoughts, he'd also been forced to deal with the clone's experiences - the clone, who had watched himself harm a person he loved while being powerless to do anything to stop it. The sheer horror of that rediscovery had left Shiro a shaking, weeping mess for days.

Pressing both palms into the counter, he leaned forward and breathed out as the memories came back, dark and unsettling. They didn't hold the power they used to, but the echoes of terrified helplessness still left him unsteady.

"Hey... you ok?"

Shiro blinked and spun around to find Keith approaching, his face open and... concerned. Shiro squashed down the flutter in his stomach and stood up straight. He had a feeling Keith didn't want a real answer to his question.

"I'm fine. How are things going with the maybe blades?"

Keith flicked his gaze to the side before he wandered over to the picture wall. "Well, I know you're trying to one-up me in getting them to talk to you."

Shiro pushed back the embarrassment with a laugh. "Kors told you, huh? Probably trying to pit us against each other."

"Maybe," Keith murmured.

The timer buzzed, and Shiro turned away to remove the tea leaves from the mugs. "I just thought I'd give it a try. Turns out my interpersonal skills are a little rusty after four years of retirement."

"Must be a devastating blow for you, Mr. Ambassador."

The hint of laughter in Keith's tone did things to Shiro's insides. He couldn't hold back the grin as he picked up the mugs, walked over, and passed one to Keith. As he'd done the last time, he took a step back and kept his distance.

"I'm just out of practice. At least, I hope that's all it is for your mom and Kolivan's sakes."

Keith snorted. "Mom will cut you slack. Kolivan? Ehhhh..."

"I'm familiar," Shiro said with a laugh. "So, do you think Kors is actually a blade, then?"

"I think she's either a good actor, or she's being genuine, but knowing how the Blade infiltrated the Empire and remained undercover for years... it's hard to tell for sure."

"And Perid?"

"She seems less complicated, but sometimes I see flickers of... calculation, I guess?" Keith paused to take a sip from his steaming mug before cocking his head to the side and shrugging. "She's the more suspicious of the two, but that assumes they aren't both traitors."

"True," Shiro acknowledged. "How do you plan to handle the Blade base? I don't like the idea of leaving you there without knowing if they've been compromised."

Keith shoved his free hand through his hair and looked down at the floor. "I'm not sure. But Pidge is tracking us, right? She's probably on her way. If she's smart, she'll bring backup."

"If _Pidge_ is smart?"

Keith glanced up, brow raised and smirk twisting his lips. "Exactly."

Shiro swallowed and looked away, willing the heat crawling up his neck to dissipate. "Maybe she'll bring Kolivan or Krolia."

Keith hummed his agreement. "Or the team."

"Hunk and Lance?"

"And Romelle." Keith's brows furrowed. "Though you'd probably know better than me if you've been keeping up with the others."

"I talked with Coran a few weeks ago, and Romelle was there on Altea, working with Merla on planning the big Coalition gala to celebrate ten deca-phoebs of peace. Pidge was off-planet somewhere doing Pidge stuff, I assume related to your mission. Hunk was busy on Earth with his culinary empire, and Lance wasn't back yet from some 'soul-searching' expedition-"

"Doubtful."

Shiro blinked before sucking in a breath of understanding. "You mean he was probably off on a mission and using that as cover."

"At least you haven't lost your deduction skills," Keith said in his matter-of-fact way.

Shiro smiled as he fended off another wave of heat at the praise. "Maybe, though I have yet to figure out why Kors calls you commander. Is that a new Blade thing?"

"Oh, that," Keith said, his lip curling in disdain. "Pretty sure that's my mom baiting me."

Shiro frowned. "Huh?"

"Since the war ended, Kolivan has been pushing for a Blade commander position separate from the senior blade designation to be in charge of all blades. He and Mom have been trying to get me to take the position for deca-phoebs, but I keep dodging because it would mean limited undercover stuff. Mom must have put that designation in the orders as a reminder that I can't avoid it forever."

"This is for, uh... both the public and clandestine sides of the Blade, then?"

Keith gave Shiro a side-long glance before facing the picture wall again. "Yeah."

"Well, congrats on the forced promotion, then."

"Ha ha," Keith deadpanned. "Thanks."

"Who leads the xenotarian efforts while you're undercover?"

"Believe it or not, Zethrid and Ezor have taken over. They like going to new places, especially if it involves confrontations with minor warlords, which it often does. I offered them positions elsewhere, but they prefer the xenotarian work."

"Bizarre," Shiro breathed.

Keith let out a quiet chuckle. "Yep."

For a moment, they both gazed at the photo wall and sipped their tea in silence. Shiro felt effervescent from the easy flow of conversation between them. It reminded him of long stints on the observation deck in the Castle when they'd sit together talking, reading, eating, or just watching the stars roll by. Those days seemed so long ago.

"I miss the Castle sometimes," Shiro murmured, hesitant to break the mood.

"Me, too," Keith whispered before clearing his throat. Shiro could feel unspoken words buzzing between them like a brewing ion storm. When Keith spoke again, though, his cool voice eased some of the static. "Why do you have these?"

He pointed to a series of photos that always elicited a combination of regret and nostalgia in Shiro. He knew now why he'd done so many things to push away Keith and the rest of the paladins, but it didn't erase the hurt he'd caused. He wanted... he wanted a lot of things, but mostly, he just wanted to apologize.

Fear of pushing too hard lingered in the back of his mind, but _Keith_ had asked the question this time. Perhaps a brief but truthful answer would sustain their tentative peace.

"I keep them because I've always regretted not being there. They remind me not to take things - or people - for granted."

He swallowed at Keith's slight intake of breath but kept his gaze fixed on the desert sunset. The static built between them, and Shiro held his breath. Finally, Keith's voice grated across the stillness as if the words were being dragged from his mouth by force.

"Why? Why didn't you come?"

"I wanted to," Shiro admitted. He blew out a breath to dispel the encroaching memories before finally looking over at Keith. "But my head was so messed up. I was terrified someone might see through my facade, so I kept to myself as much as I could. It was only supposed to be for a little while, just until I got things under control. But... things got worse instead of better."

"You should have told me," Keith said in a stronger tone, his face unreadable as he turned to meet Shiro's gaze.

"Yes," Shiro acknowledged. "I'm sorry I didn't. I'm sorry for a lot of things."

No equivocations. No denials. All his reasons for _not_ telling Keith, though valid in their own way, didn't matter right now. Static still sizzled between them, and if this ended up being the only time Keith wanted to talk about this, he wouldn't ruin it by spouting off a litany of excuses.

Keith only nodded in response. He drained his mug and walked over to put it in the dish cleaner. Then, he turned around to lean against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked down, a vague sadness pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"There are plenty of things I'm sorry for, too," he rasped, "but, Shiro... trust me when I say that dwelling on the past is just as damaging as running away from it. Sometimes, all we can do is cut our losses, learn from our mistakes, and start fresh. That's what you're doing now, right? New job. New planet. It's a hell of a thing." He glanced over at the photo wall before looking back to meet Shiro's gaze, a fierceness in his expression that Shiro hadn't seen since their paladin days. "We've all changed. Moved on. So maybe it's time to focus on making new memories instead of holding on to the ghosts of people and places and... and feelings that died a long time ago."

The words struck like lightning in Shiro's chest, burning through the fragile hope he'd been building up for deca-phoebs. Questions and counterpoints sparked on his lips, but he would not repeat his past mistakes by asking questions that were sure to cause more damage than good. Instead of pushing, he took a step back, both figuratively and literally.

"Thanks, Keith. I'll keep that in mind. For now, though, I should let you get some sleep."

Keith's eyes fixed on Shiro for a long moment, his irises like pools of liquid dusk. Shiro wished he could read the look, but the door Keith had left ajar for their conversation had slammed closed again.

"Right," Keith said, breaking the tension as he uncrossed his arms, pushed away from the counter, and walked over to sit on his makeshift bed.

"Goodnight," Shiro said.

"'Night."

Shiro quietly padded to the bathroom, the weight of their conversation following him through his morning routine. Objectively, he could see the sense in Keith's advice, but he'd learned enough from Doc to know that simply saying things were in the past didn't actually make it true. Unless dealt with in a healthy way, memories could haunt a person in perpetuity. Those desert photos, for example, held a lot of significance for Keith, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Shiro faltered in pulling on his jacket as the thought caught in his mind and took hold. He replayed the conversation in his head and let out a little breath as he realized that just before Keith had admonished him to let go of dead memories... it had been _Keith_ who'd asked about the photos. Without any prompting, _Keith_ had asked why Shiro hadn't come that day.

The hope crushed only doboshes before made a tentative resurgence. If Keith truly wanted to move on from their friendship, then Shiro would have to accept that, but if he could somehow prove to Keith that he'd changed, that he wanted to rebuild what he'd destroyed during the depths of his illness, then perhaps a path to reconciliation was still possible.

Shiro emerged from his room to a darkened living area. He knew his way around by feel, but as the sounds of Keith's slow, steady breathing reached his ears, he paused for a moment just to appreciate the convoluted chain of events that led them here. He had a real chance to fix things.

He wouldn't fuck it up this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to Bob there's plot somewhere in between all this angsting ...
> 
> But seriously, all these boys' extra feelings blew my outline to bits, so that's one reason this chapter took so long. Hoping I can get back on track in the next chapter or two.
> 
> Sigh. I hope you all enjoyed it, anyway. XD

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter as [@Starlight_VLD](https://twitter.com/Starlight_VLD). Come talk to me any time!


End file.
